


3 Years, 4 Months, 12 Days - Old Version

by AL13



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (well it's a form of bipolar), Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, PTSD, Recovery, and probably some fluff, post season 3ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AL13/pseuds/AL13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian went to West Point, and served for nearly four years, but is home early, having been honorably discharged. He's not the same anymore, the war having changed him drastically. And Mickey seems to be the only one capable of getting through to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little intro. Better explains it then my crappy general summary.

It had been 3 years. Well, 3 years, 4 months and 12 days, if you were technical. That's what Mickey was told anyways, because he had no reason to care. Ian was due back in Chicago in shortly less than a year. Mickey tried to convince himself that he didn't care, but no matter how many guys he fucked, or how much stupid shit he did to spend a few months in jail. He didn't know why he bothered to even get out, since he was usually back behind bars after a few weeks. Maybe a part of him hoped that one of those times he got out, Ian might be there. But that idea was extremely gay.

He'd went back in again a few months ago. On account of grand theft auto. The good thing about jail, Mickey thought, was that he could always get laid. But he couldn't bottom, because then he might seem weak. His cell mate was a small kid, and Mickey had him scared; he became property of Mickey, and the only bruises on his body were inflicted by Mickey. His name was Sean. And Mickey let Sean fuck him, because he didn't have to worry about the pussy blabbing.

God did it feel good to have a dick in his ass again, but it wasn't Gallagher's, and he hated that he noticed the difference. A dick should be a dick, it shouldn't have mattered to him whose it was, but it wasn't Ian's, and that mattered.

 

Mickey was only sentenced to six months, but he ended up there for ten. One more for involving himself in a fight, two for punching an officer, and another one tacked on for stealing a knife from the kitchen. It was only his millionth time in jail, but it had been his longest sentence, and it ticked down the time until Ian got hom. When he finally got out, it was the end of April, and Mandy wasn't there like she'd been all of the other times. Maybe she'd finally given up on him.

He had to walk home, and on the way, he passed the Gallagher house, and they were throwing some sort of party. There were balloons tied to the fence, and people were standing outside, and Mickey recalled something; 3 years, 4 months, and 12 days. All that time and Ian was back. He was on the opposite side of the street, and he couldn't stop looking. A clunky car pulled up, and Lip, Fiona and Mandy piled out; Lip going around to the trunk and Mandy and Fiona met by the right side of the car. But Mickey knew that Ian was supposed to be away for four years, he knew because he had it marked on a calendar, and he was back 8 months early, and he knew that was never good.

Mickey was worrying because Ian still wasn’t appearing out of the car. He didn’t register the wheel chair Lip had until someone who looked remotely familiar was lifted into the chair. The red hair was buzzed and lacked it’s old shine, his posture was slumped, and really, it looked nothing like Ian. But the way everyone cheered, it had to be him. Once he managed to look away, he ran, until he was shut inside his room and breathing heavily. Gallagher was supposed to come back healthy, although he was lucky to come back alive at all.


	2. 4 Years And I'm Still Not Over You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long. But only due to laziness. I actually have a lot written right now.

Mandy told him about Ian; he’d been shot in the back, and he had no use of his legs. They weren’t completely paralyzed, he could walk again, if he put forth the effort in physical therapy. When he’d been in the hospital though, he hadn’t even tried. Mandy said that he wouldn’t talk, and had been pretty unresponsive to everyone. She’d only told him, because he was the only one she’d had to talk to, and he held her when she cried, but only when no one else was home. He wanted to cry too, but that just wasn’t something he could allow himself to do.

This time, Mickey wasn’t planning how to land himself back in jail right away. Instead, he was thinking of how to go about visiting Ian. An opportunity arose about two weeks after Mickey got out; Mandy invited him to tag along, and he was not going to let the chance pass.

 

Gallagher was in his bed, staring across the room at nothing. He was there, but Mickey could see in his eyes that he wasn’t there. In his right hand was a stress ball, and Ian clutched it firmly. Mandy took a seat on the edge of his bed, and yet Ian was unresponsive. Mandy faced away from him at first, picking at the frayed edges of a blue plaid blanket they were both sitting atop of. From where Mickey stood against the bunk bed, he could see the cigarette burns in the cloth, and it must’ve been pretty old- probably a spare blanket locked away in a crowded closet.

“Hey shithead,” Mandy said teasingly. It was only an obvious cover for her pain. Of course, Ian wouldn’t notice, because he seemed to be ignoring everything. “How’s it going?” She didn’t expect an answer, it was clear, but she still asked. “I brought Mickey. He’s been sitting around on his ass, needed to get out of the house.” Ians eyes briefly flicked over the room, eyes landing back on the wall after they met Mickey’s.

Mickey trained his on the same wall Ian seemed to be focused on, trying to see what was so damn interesting. The white wall was fading to a sickly shade of yellow. Mickey remembered reading something about how nicotine could cause walls or paint or whatever to turn that same yellow shade. He couldn’t remember all of the details, he’d probably read about it in some book at the jail. He’d frequented the library when he was bored, he’d forgotten most of the useless information, but occasionally some of it was triggered back into his mind.

“Don’t talk about me Mands. He doesn’t want to hear about that shit. Don’t wanna bore him.” Mickey noticed the way Ian’s breath hitched when he talked, and then returned to a study rhythm.

“Fuckface, doctor said it would be good to talk to him, might get him to talk.” Mandy reached on the floor, chucking a dirty sock at Mickey, only hitting his leg. Her aim was pretty shitty.

“Stupid,” he muttered, but really he knew it wasn’t; if he was in there alone, he’d probably be talking nonsense to Gallagher as well. “Yeah, well does that seem to be working?” Mickey watched as the stress ball slipped from Ian's hand, rolling onto the floor and beside his foot. He saw the way Ian's eyes watered, and the stare he held on the wall became more of a glare.

"Shut up dickwad. Doctor said it could take awhile."

"Yeah, whatever. Just finish up this pity party so we can go." Ian was crying; his teeth clamped onto his lips, keeping in the cries, and his eyes were screwed shut, and the tears ever so present on his reddened cheeks.

“Woah, Ian,” Mandy said, surprised by his tears. Mandy glared over at him; he’d pressed some buttons. Mickey and Ian hadn’t parted on good terms, Mickey had said some crude and untrue things. “Just fuck off Mick.” He didn’t argue, left willingly. Not because of Mandy, but because Mickey could tell Ian wasn’t ready to see him, because Mickey had really hurt him.

He was Mickey Milkovich. He didn’t apologize. But maybe he should start.

***

“God Mick, do you always have to be a dick?” Mandy hadn’t knocked, hadn’t given any warning to her presence. Everyone else was out, and he supposes he was lucky that it was just Mandy that had walked in. When Mickey had returned from the Gallaghers, he’d gone straight to his room, not locking the door because no one was due home for awhile. He had a picture of Ian, a military photo that he’d stolen from the Gallagher house, and he was crying. It was his moment of weakness.

“Get the fuck out,” he demanded, but Mandy didn’t seem to plan on moving. He’d stuffed the picture under his leg; Mandy still didn’t know about them, and he was too damn scared for anyone to find out.

“Mick--”

“Get out!” He interrupted, pointing to the door right behind her. When she only crossed her arms and glared at him for an explanation, he stood up with the intent to push her from the room.

“What’s that?” She turned their attention to the picture that had fallen on the floor. Mandy was trying to pick it up, and he couldn’t exactly stop her, especially once she had it in her grasp. “What the fuck?” Mandy was clearly surprised, and it was pretty obvious what Mickey had been crying over. Mickey reclaimed the photo, and managed to twist Mandy around and out of his room, closing the door so that ‘stay the fuck out’ cardboard sign was staring her in the face.

Mickey remained shut off in his room for a couple more weeks; Mandy brought him food, and updated him on Ian without being asked to. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Mandy would force him out, probably to the Gallagher’s, because that was the only other place she went.


	3. I Can't Hide Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a chapter spam. I've got a few ready.

“Come on Mick, you can’t stay in this house forever. And Ian totally misses you.” Mickey rolled his eyes as Mandy sat on his bed, carelessly painting her toenails blue; she’d gotten three spots of nail polish on his blankets, and he wanted to force her out of the room.

“You saw him cry last time, he doesn’t want to see me, probably not ever again.” Mickey stretched out casually, pushing his feet against Mandy’s legs where they blocked his own leg room; she was sitting horizontally, leaning against the wall that his bed was pushed against. Mandy swatted at his legs, but lifted her own so that Mickey’s legs reached the bottom of the bed and he laid back against his pillow, and Mandy rested her own over his, letting her toenails air dry.

“Bullshit, whenever I mention your name, it gets a response outta him. Not much, but his eyes are always searching the room, he wants you to be there.”

“Maybe next week, I need to be prepared.” Mandy seemed to accept that answer, and Mickey was still clueless on how he might go about ‘preparing’ himself.

“Mickey?” Mandy questioned; it’d been quiet for a few minutes before she’d let her voice break the silence. He didn’t acknowledge her, just lifted his head and rested both of his arms underneath and stared wide eyed at the ceiling. “Do you love him Mick?” Of course. He couldn’t tell her that, people couldn’t know about any of his feeling, that would only allow them to get in and wreck it all. “I think you do, you’re just scared.” Mickey shrugged, and he knew that could easily be interpreted for him agreeing with her.

Mandy was suddenly standing on his bed, walking over his legs and stepping down to the floor covered in unwashed clothes. “You want some food?” Mandy took Mickey’s sideways glance as a yes and bounded out of the room, not closing the door, go figure. So Mickey had to get up and close it himself, then plopping back down on his bed.

***

Mickey was totally inebriated the next time that he visited the Gallagher house. It was two in the morning and the Alibi had just closed, kicking Mickey out, and he thought that maybe he’d drank a bit much. The Gallaghers was closer than his own home, and with the way he felt while walking by, he figured he might as well see Ian while he had all the confidence possible. The house was dark, and Mickey had tripped while walking inside; he’d come in through their backdoor, which they were stupid enough to leave unlocked.

The stairs seemed never ending in his drunken stupor as he made his way up the stairs on his hands and knees, occasionally getting wrapped up in a stray clothing item strewn about. He saw, once in Ian’s room, that Carl was asleep in the top bunk, and Liam in the smaller bed situated in the corner. Upon first look, Ian appeared asleep, but then Mickey noticed the little ways that he kept shifting, and that only meant he had to be awake.

“Firecrotch,” Mickey tried to whisper, but it still came out louder than planned. Ian’s eyes sought him out and found him leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Fuck you look like shit.” Mickey hiccuped and stumbled forwards, ending up on his ass beside Gallagher’s bed. “Oopsies,” Mickey giggled, trying to stand up and crawling into Ian’s bed on the side closer to the wall. “Goodnight Gallagher,” Mickey mumbled. The read head’s bed was more comfortable than his own, and with the feeling of Ian beside him, he felt warmer inside. “Love you,” Mickey let slip out without thought, and wrapped an arm around Ian before nodding off.

 

Mickey woke up disoriented and felt like shit. He wasn’t in his own bed; he could tell, even though he hadn’t even opened his eyes, because it wasn’t lumpy like his own. There was a body under his arm, and he could just tell from the feel that it was Ian beside him. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there; he couldn’t remember anything after a few drinks at the Alibi. Ian was awake, and someone else was speaking to him, and Mickey followed his instincts of tightening his hold on Ian.

“Is he awake?” A male voice asked quietly, and when whoever it was left the room, followed by the sound of the door shutting, Mickey figured Ian must have nodded.

Mickey was nudged off of the comfortable body and finally, albeit slowly, opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh light. Ian was holding something out to him, and once his eyes adjusted, and the glass of water registered in his mind, he reached out for it. His hand missed, and maybe the effects of the alcohol hadn’t quite worn off. Ians hand helped him grip the glass, wrapping both of their hands around the glass and placed what Mickey assumed to be tylenol in his mouth, their hands jointly helping Mickey wash it down with water. “Thanks.”

“You can thank Lip.” Ians voice was quiet, no doubt for Mickey’s benefit and he was glad Ian was that considerate. Mickey was sitting up now, curled against the wall with his knees up to his chest, his head resting on his knees. He noticed Ian picking at the soft fabric of the pajamas that covered his legs, and he looked tired, and just so ready to give up. “Do you remember last night?”

“No.” Mickey felt bad, because if it was being brought up, it must’ve been important.

“Figured.”

“Sorry,” Mickey mumbled, and now he had his head hidden in disappointment, because he really seemed to have upset Ian. “Will you tell me?”

“You’ll only deny it.” They left it at that, and Mickey simply sat with Ian, as he looked aimlessly at his legs. There was a bell next to Ian’s bed, like you saw in the movies, always in the hands of some helpless old lady, and Ian had really been reduced to that. He only noticed it- chipping and the silver color fading- when Ian allowed the high-pitched ring to slice through the silence around them.

Lip was the one who responded, entering the room as if he’d insistently been listening for it. He seemed to know what was wanted of him, and Carl joined them in the room a moment later like there was an internal pull that Ian needed their aid. Ian’s arms were lifted and wrapped around the other boys necks as they helped him up. Mickey didn’t ask, just watched as they briefly disappeared into the bathroom and left the room, closing the door behind them, without Ian. Mickey could definitely see why he’d want his privacy, even though nearly everyone in the house let the door remain open when doing their business. But with what little privacy Ian had anymore, it was understandable. Mickey hated seeing Ian so helpless, but he wasn’t really sure how he could possibly change that.

Ian was back in the room after a few minutes and looked a bit disappointed with himself. But Mickey could tell him it was his fault, because he was refusing to get help and try.

“I gotta go,” he stated quickly when Ian was settled back down.

“You gonna come back?” Mickey just shrugged and left the room. He couldn’t believe that had been the place he’d chosen to go when he’d been drunk.

“Leaving already?” Lip asked accusingly when Mickey stumbled down the stairs, because seriously, they never cleaned up. Mickey had no reason to reply, and just pushed past Lip where he tried to block the path at the end of the stairs. He saw Mandy coming in just as he was leaving, and tried to ignore that she was there.


	4. I'm Desperate, For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of wrote this chapter out of order, so I don't know how good it is. Please let me know if it would make more sens if I changed some things.

Mickey realized when he was home that Ian had talked, to  him . He wouldn’t talk to his siblings, or Mandy, but he didn’t seem phased talking to Mickey. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing, but it had to be, maybe it meant he was forgiven, because they definitely hadn’t been on good terms before. Mickey could remember nearly every word he’d regrettably said, and how it’d hurt Ian. He’d left a week later, and Mickey knew it was his fault.

 

“Stop pretending that you don’t give a shit!” Ian said, after Mickey had fucked Angie Zago. “You don’t have to hide it from me.” Gallagher was always saying shit like that, but it wasn’t that easy, if he went soft for Ian, then he’d become too careless, they’d get caught.

“Not everybody can blurt out how they fucking feel all the time.”

“That’s not what I need. I know you love me. I just wish you wouldn’t act so tough around me. You’re pushing me away.”

“Good, I don’t fucking need you.” The words were sour on his tongue and it was the opposite of how he really felt; Gallagher was like his fucking lifeline. “You’re like a leech, latching on, and not leaving me alone. Just fuck  off .” They were having this small argument in the middle of the Milkovich living room whilst everyone was out, and Mickey was fucking up so bad.

“I’m done with this bullshit.” The redhead turned around swiftly, grabbing his coat and exiting quickly. Mickey figured he’d be back; they argued all the time. But it was so much different that time.

 

Mickey wished he hadn’t been so afraid of his feelings, then Gallagher wouldn’t have gotten shot. Oh god, it was  his fault. He was such a fuck up. A dumbass. He didn’t deserve the redhead, he’d nearly ruined him.

Mickey’s solution to everything was alcohol, and it was no different now. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of going to the Gallagher's this time though. he was going to mope, and when Mandy got home, he’d listen to everything she had to say about Ian, see how his visit had affected him.

He was on his second bottle of Vodka when Mandy had gotten home; the taste was strong, but it was cheap and affordable. He was on the couch, close to falling off and passing out on the floor. His feet were propped on the faded green armrest while his head rested on the opposite side. There were a couple of joints, along with cigarettes strewn carelessly on the coffee table- he’d aimed for the ashtray, but couldn’t be bothered to ensure that that was where they landed. His pajamas had new holes in them where he’d burned out the cigarettes, and he occasionally picked at the charred cloth that surround the empty holes of the plain red pants.

“Mands!” Mickey shouted excitedly when he’d heard the front door shut and saw her slipping off her shoes as she walked farther into the room. “How’s my firecrotch?” He didn’t stop himself from claiming Gallagher as his,  his property. “I said something, and he seemed upset, but I can’t remember...can’t…” Mickey quickly turned from nonchalant to freaking out in seconds. “God, does he hate me. Did he say anything?”

“Jeez Mickey, how much did you drink?” Her eyes scanned the floor, spotting the Vodka, and knowing how smashed he must’ve been. “He didn’t say anything. Acted like normal.” Normal of course meant staring at the wall, probably holding that stupid stress ball of his. “If you’re so worried, go talk to him yourself.”

“He probably won’ wanna talk. I always screw thin’s up.”

“Whatever. Just go sleep it off.” Mickey wanted to argue, because he only wanted to get  drunker , but she disappeared, probably went off to her own room. His room was too far way, and it wasn’t worth stumbling over there, probably falling and passing out on the floor. He finished off the small amount of liquid that settled at the bottom of the bottle and then let it slide to the floor. He curled up on his side, cradling the picture of Gallagher he was still holding onto, because it felt like the closest he might get to him.

***

It was a few more days when Mandy finally told him he needed to get his ass up and go see Gallagher. The only time she could ever really get a reaction out of the redhead was to mention Mickey. “I told him that you’re coming over tomorrow. He looked excited. Don’t let him down.”

“Why’d you have to do a stupid thing like that?” Mickey was laying in his bed, he had a horrible headache from drinking too much yet again. He’d been binging since he figured he’d fucked it all up with Ian.

“That you'd go, so you wouldn’t let him down. Make him  actually hate you.”

“I’m not fucking going.” He knew he would though, because Ian was expecting him, and he’d already let him down too many times. “Get out,” he snapped and Mandy left without question, much to his surprise.

 

Mickey was in the Gallagher’s house yet again with Mandy. He stood awkwardly in the kitchen while Mandy spoke to Fiona and Lip, he tried to tune out their conversation, but he caught a few things. “We need to redress the wound,” Fiona spoke softly.

“But,” Lip interjected. “He won’t let us touch him.” Mandy looked over at Mickey, and he knew what she was going to expect of him, and he’d definitely do it. Anything for Ian. “And the doctor says, that if it isn’t changed soon, he could get an infection. Worst case scenario...he loses his legs. God, he’s such a pain in the ass.” Mickey hated how Lip talked like Ian was  trying to make it hard on them. It must’ve been harder for him.

Mickey slipped away as they continued to discuss the seriousness of what was going on with Ian, and took the stairs quietly. He paused outside of the room shared by the three youngest male Gallaghers and hesitated before entering. Mickey walked in slowly, and Ian didn’t look up, most likely assuming it was only one of his siblings. “Hey,” Mickey whispered into the silent room, his voice ringing out. Ian looked up immediately, and his eyes met with Mickey’s and his expression turned scared. “Don’t leave again. You may not realize it, but that’s what you’re doing, you’re  leaving . But it’s worse this time, because you’re  here , right in front of me. Everyone else thinks they have you, that you’re here to stay. All you do all day is stare at the wall, you won’t let anyone in. I’ve been waiting, okay, it’s been hard on me too. I want you back.” Mickey might have sounded sappy, but dammit, he’d been away for 3 years,4 months and 12 days, and it all just broke him up.

Ian didn’t respond, and Mickey sat on the edge of his bed- where Mandy always sat while Mickey would loiter by the door- with both hands flattened on the mattress as he braced himself. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Then there was something smooth covering his hand; his instinct was to pull away, but instead he flipped the hand over and allowed Gallagher to grip it with the same amount of force he’d used on his stupid stress ball. Mickey didn’t need to hear Ian’s words, he knew what he was trying to convey.

Mickey had been staring at the ground, the putrid carpet staring back at him, discolored in many different places. Mandy appeared in the room then, but Mickey was not going to move for her, he’d  just gotten Ian to trust him. Mandy looked to where Ian's eyes no longer focused across the room, and instead bore into Mickey. The stress ball was stranded on the floor in favor of Mickey’s hand and it was like that was all he needed. Mickey avoided Mandy’s gaze, because he could see the jealousy; he’d been the only one who could get a response from Ian. Mickey knew though, that Ian shouldn’t depend on him so much, he’d only be disappointed.

“I need to go firecrotch,” Mickey declared quietly, but avoided the redheads eyes. Ian's hand tightened it’s hold, and Mickey couldn’t argue. “Or not.” Mickey tried to pull away, which caused Ian to whimper. “I’m not leaving, just adjusting.” Ian let him go this time, but seemed prepared to reach for him if he even looked like he was going to stand up. Mickey swung his legs onto the small bed, kicking off his shoes first and squeezed beside Gallagher, ending up pressed against him. Ian’s arm was around his waist almost immediately. His eyes slipped shut when he seemed comfortable, with his head on Mickey’s chest, one hand gripping the bottom of his grey t-shirt and their legs entangled. It didn’t take long after that for the redhead to be asleep.

“I thought you left, when I didn’t see you downstairs. Thought you were gonna be a dumbass and cut him off again.” Mickey was just great at surprises.

“Wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Next time he wakes up, you’re gonna have to redress the wound. I told Fiona you’d do it, but she’s not the happiest. Lip will tell you how to do it. You’ll probably have to do it all, he screams when they touch him.” Mickey couldn’t see how the sweet redhead in his arms would react like such to his family, especially when he welcomed Mickey’s touch. “He trusts you, I don’t understand why,.” Mickey flipped her off at that comment, he wasn’t that shit of a person. “Whatever, I’ll leave you alone.”

Mickey sent her a small wave and looked down at Ian. He looked much happier whilst he was asleep, probably because he didn’t have things to worry about. He let his eyes shut, running a hand through the red hair and focused on Gallagher’s shallow breaths. He kissed Ian’s forehead before resting his back on the lumpy pillow, figuring he might as well sleep too.


	5. I'm Here. I Promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this. So if there's any errors other then like little spelling mistakes that should really be fixed, please let me know.

Mickey was woken by a sharp cry, one that he knew was coming from the man lying next to him; Ian. Mandy had said once that the last time he slept, he’d woken up screaming, and she clearly hadn’t been lying. Ian’s arms were thrashing, and Mickey had been hit multiple times. It was unpredictable what he’d want Mickey to do, all he knew to do was hold onto Ian and try to comfort him.

His arm wrapped around the redheads chest, and his mouth was close to his ear. “You’re okay. You’re home.” Half of him wanted to add ‘I’m here,’ because he was, but he didn’t feel that was something Ian needed to hear, then again, maybe it was. “Ian, you need to wake up. You’re okay. I’m here. Just breath, and wake up, nothing’s gonna hurt you.” Ian wasn’t calming down though, so obviously the soothing approach wasn’t going to work.

Mickey changed his tactics and held his arms down, he struggled a bit, and finally woke with a start. His eyes were darting around the room, and Mickey hadn’t noticed the other Gallaghers that were in the room too, he’d been too preoccupied with Ian. Ian was frightened by the amount of people surrounding him, Mickey could see it in his eyes. And he was taking deep breaths, and a few growls could be heard deep in his throat.

“Out,” Mickey announced to the room full of Gallaghers. “Everybody get out.” Fiona went to protest, but Mickey glared and pointed to the door. “I said out.” They listened this time, and after Fiona exited, everyone filed out behind her, with only Lip remaining.

“Think you can redress the wound?” Lip asked with an air of seriousness.

“I guess,” he shrugged, although he was afraid he might hurt him. Ian didn’t appear to be paying attention though.

“Gotta take his shirt off,” Lip said as the first step. “Then roll him over and unwind the bandage. I’ll get a cloth and a clean bandage.” Mickey nodded in understanding and Lip traipsed out of the room, the features on his face turning dark and sad, as if he was afraid to leave his brother. Lip left the room at last, leaving Mickey alone with the redhead.

“Ian,” Mickey spoke lightly, grasping his attention. Mickey nudged at his arms, getting him to hold them high above his head, allowing Mickey to pull the faded light green t-shirt over his head, revealing his pale skin and a once white bandage. He pushed this time at Ian’s shoulder, choosing not to use his words. He found where it was taped, at the base of Ian’s spine, and unwrapped it slowly. The wound was revealed and Mickey’s breath caught in his throat. It was starting to heal, but Mickey could see the stitches from surgery, and the yellow and blue bruising, which looked darker than it was against the contrast of his pale skin. His eyes froze there longer than necessary, he failed to noticed Lip in the room, who watched his hand gently flit over the raised flesh where the bullet had pierced through Ian’s skin. Mickey noticed Ian stiffen, which caused him to drop his hand immediately.

He was distracted by a tap on his shoulder, and Lip passed over a dripping cloth that felt slightly soapy. Mickey swiped it over the skin lightly, watching as some of the water dribbled onto the sheets, forming a wet spot. “Can I get a dry cloth?” Mickey asked without looking away from Ian’s back, not wanting him to have to lay with the damp sheets rudding against him. Lip passed over a towel, and Mickey hadn’t noticed Lip had already left and came back. He pushed it slightly under Ian’s body, relishing in the warmth that radiated on his usually cold hands.

“That’s good Mickey,” Lip stated, drawing him from his spaced off state. “Here,” Lip passed over the bandage that would wrap all the way around his back and front.

“C-can you help me,” his voice broke, and it was getting hard for him to keep in his emotions. Lip was beside him in a moment and took the bandage back from Mickey, resting it at his low back, and had Mickey roll Ian back onto his back, afraid that his brother still didn’t want to be touched. The process was repeated until the bandage was double wrapped around his body, covering the stitches and off-colored skin.

Ian went back to what he’d been doing for two weeks, and just stared, this time back at Mickey. Lip stood against the bunk bed and Mickey was glued to Ian’s side. “I expected you to be back in jail by now. I think this is a record.” Lips words pissed Mickey off, because he wasn’t heartless, he might have given it to Ian years ago, but with him back, Mickey wasn’t earning himself another spot in jail. “He needs meds, since you’re here, why don’t you give them to him. Good luck.” Lip handed him an orange bottle and water that Mickey hadn’t noticed he’d had before, and left without another word.

Lip made it sound like a difficult task, but Mickey had managed to get the bandage on. “Ian.” The words brought the redheads eyes to meet his own. “You gotta take this.” Ian only shook his head, but that didn’t discourage Mickey. “Too bad.” Ian’s mouth was clamped shut, but Mickey managed to get the pill into his mouth, although it was spit out almost instantly. “Dammit Ian, do you want to get better or not?” Ian only shrugged, but Mickey could take that as a no. “Well too bad for you, because I want you to get better even if I have to shove his pill down your throat.”

Ian remained unresponsive, but was trying to get to the edge of the bed. “You want up?” Mickey tried to help him by obtaining a hold on his arm, but was knocked away. “What the fuck Gallagher?” Mickey was shocked to find Ian thudding to the floor and he glared up at Mickey. “You got yourself down there. Don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but you can do it on your own, you clearly don’t want help.”

Ian managed to pull himself a few more inches to the door before he ended up flat on the floor and a yelp escaped his mouth. Mickey was quick to his side and pulled Ian up and back to the bed, and tried to pretend that he didn’t notice Ian crying. Mickey handed over the water, and just hoped that Ian would be smart and take it. Surprisingly Ian grasped the water and took the pill from Mickey, resting it gently on his tongue and washing it down with the water. The glass was handed back to Mickey and placed on the floor.

“You can’t walk,” he mused randomly. “Mandy told me. she also said you won’t do physical therapy.” There was a long pause, with the two just listening to their breathing. “You’re not even gonna try? Just gonna give up. When you wanted into West Point, you put all your time and energy into it, and beat yourself up over your grades, then you went for it. But now that you got shot, you’re giving up. You’re alive. That’s an accomplishment in itself.” Ian wrapped two hands around Mickey’s forearm and let his head rest on the smaller mans shoulder.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come back again. I haven’t been very welcoming,” Ian whispered. “Mandy’s told me lots of stuff. You being in and out of jail, but you’ve stayed out for awhile. That was pretty stupid of you.” Ian picked at the bottom of Mickey’s shirt, pulling on a loose string. Mickey was surprised that Ian was actually talking to him. “You said you love me.” Mickey knew that he was talking about; the day he’d come over drunk.

“I’ve spent the last four years trying to forget you,” Mickey started. “And then suddenly you’re back, and I’m scared, because I’ve been trying my best not to love you, but with you gone for so long, I’m starting to realize that that is impossible. God dammit, this is such a faggy conversation. You’re turning me into a sap Gallagher.” Ian smiled a little, and Mickey couldn’t not smile back. If things had been different, if Ian hadn’t been so different, he would’ve acted just like before, he knew though, that Ian really needed to see the side of him that he often suppressed.

“But Mickey, you are a fag.” Ian giggled. “ Might as well act like one.” Mickey thought quickly and his fingers attacked Ian’s sides, causing the redhead to drone in laugher. He moved to straddling his lap so that he had better access. “M-m-mick-ck-ey,” Ian squeaked.

“Is this gay enough for you?” Mickey figured it was with the way he was wriggling around with a smile that shown in his eyes.

“M-mick. S-t-top-op.” Mickey ignored him, putting it off to Ian still being surprised. “Mick,” he said louder and without the stutter from his giggles, looking serious, and Mickey stopped that time. “You’re hurting my legs.” Mickey shot off of his lap and rested beside him with a look of worry in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly. “You’ve got feeling in your legs, that must mean something good.”

Ian shrugged at that, and didn’t seem to think it was so great. “That just means that I always know how much pain my legs are always in,” Ian said, with a blank look in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, just get me some food.” Mickey was shoved off of the bed and headed downstairs, where all of the Gallaghers were settled, and they all seemed transfixed on him.

“Ian wants food,” he announced. “And stop fucking staring at me. Creeps,” he scoffed. Mickey shoved towards the fridge, past all of the still shocked Gallaghers. What he found in their fridge was sparse, but there was bacon, and he saw bread on the counter, and it’d have to do for Ian. “Okay, seriously,” he said loudly, because they were all still standing around. “Either get out of my way, or help me make your stupid brother some food.” Carl, Lip and Liam were quickly out of the kitchen, and Debbie seemed prepared to help while Fiona remained staring at him.

“He’ll want eggs,” Debbie threw in happily; she had always seemed to be the cheeriest. “I can make them.” Mickey gave her a small smile in thanks and grabbed two pans for them, putting the bacon in one and turning on the stove. He peeked over his shoulder and he could see Fiona judging him, no doubt thinking he was shit and that Ian was much too good for him. It wasn’t a surprise, because Mickey agreed and yet Ian wouldn’t let him leave; they were both too attached.

“I’m not going to leave so don’t try to scare me away.” Mickey said, without looking towards Fiona and continued cooking.

“Debbie, could you give us a minute,” Fiona asked the redheaded girl standing beside Mickey and making eggs. Debbie didn’t hesitate and left them alone, Fiona taking her place with the eggs.

“I know I’m a piece of shit, but I’m here for Ian,” Mickey defended himself.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s helping, and I’m not going to push you away okay. Just don’t fuck up.” Mickey was surprised by how Fiona seemed to accept that the Gallaghers were stuck with him. “It doesn’t seem healthy, but somehow you’re good for him.” Mickey could see the bacon getting crispy around the edges and dug around for a plate before it burned.

“The eggs done?”

Fiona ensured that the eggs were scrambled well enough and scraped them onto the plate with the bacon. “The only way we’ve gotten him to eat is to practically force him. But now you’ve got him asking for food, it’s quite an improvement.” Mickey was slightly proud of himself, especially since he hadn’t completely fucked up with his redhead.

Mickey ended the conversation, whether it was really over or not. He took the stairs as quickly as he could with a full plate in his hand; he had plenty of food for the both of them. “Got your food your majesty,” Mickey said sarcastically when he walked back into the small room.

“You actually make that?”

“With some help from Fiona and Debbie,” he nodded. Looking down at the plate, he realized that he’d been in such a hurry to avoid Fiona that he’d forgot to make toast. “Do you want toast? I can make some, I got distracted.”

“It’s fine Mick. Get over here.” Mickey walked to the bed and set the plate on Ian’s lap before settling in beside him. “Think you made enough?” Ian teased, a big smile spreading over his face. Mickey loved how Ian didn’t look as sad when he smiled like that, a real, legit smile.”What?” Ian asked, and Mickey hadn’t even noticed that he was staring, but he wasn’t going to be bashful about it.

“I like your smile,” he said and then wanted to hit himself over the head. Look at what you’re turning me into Gallagher, such a fag.” Mickey didn’t actually care that much because he realized when Ian left, just how much he needed the stupid ginger. “Eat your damn food.” Mickey emphasized at the cracked, light blue plate, with nearly burnt bacon and over peppered eggs.

Ian made a face, and tried to hide it with a smile that still sparked in appreciation. “This is great Mick. Thanks.” Mickey knew that he didn’t mean it, Mickey was not a cook.

“Don’t lie,” he grumbled. He didn’t need Ian defending his stupid feelings. Mickey felt slobbery lips come in contact with his cheek, and when he looked at Gallagher, his features were clouded with a dopey smile. Ian’s hand rested on the cheek he hadn’t kissed, and Mickey didn’t stop their lips from cascading softly. Mickey took the plate of food- focusing more on Ian then the plate- and carelessly dropped it to the floor. With the plate out of the way, Mickey curled a hand around Ian’s neck, deepening the kiss, and easing Ian’s mouth open.

“Mick,” Ian pulled away. He felt Mickey’s hard on pressing against his leg, and it was moving much too quickly for him. “I-I can’t-” Ian motioned down to his crotch and bringing to attention the fact that he was still limp. The doctor told him that it might be awhile before he could get it up, and if absolutely necessary, he could get medicine for it.

Mickey let out a breathy laugh, and Ian was afraid that he was mocking him. “I never said I wanted sex Gallagher. Are we not allowed to just kiss?” Mickey swooped back down to connect their lips again and positioned his groin away from Ian so that his erection wasn’t so obvious, because he could tell that Ian felt guilty. Mickey did however end up resting on top Ian, with his crotch rubbing against Ian’s with every move, and he stopped himself from actually rutting up against Ian. Mickey felt a hand trying to unbutton his pants, but he shoved it away. “This isn’t about sex Ian,” he tried to reassure. He slid off Ian’s body and sprawled out next to him.

“If you want me to…” Ian started, looking pitiful.

“Ian,” he emphasized strictly. “What did I say?”

“That it’s not about sex,” he mumbled.

“Wanna finish breakfast?” Mickey reached back for the plate and smiled at Ian when he saw the frown that still settled on his face. Mickey chewed into the bacon and allowed Ian to pick at it slowly. When it was all gone, mostly consumed by Mickey, the plate was returned to the floor and he was yet again focused full on Ian.

“What do you usually do?”

Ian shrugged and looked around for his stress ball. “Squeeze that,” he pointed to where it was laying by the bunk bed. “Stare at the wall.” Mickey rolled his eyes at the monotone in his voice.

“We’re going out,”Mickey declared. He started searching around in Ian’s drawers for a clean shirt and jeans. He tossed a red plaid button-up, along with a plane with t-shirt to wear under and set the blue jeans behind him so he could help the redhead get them on. “Put the shirts on, I’ll help with the jeans.”

“You dressing me now?” Ian’s eyes sparkled when they met Mickey’s, which had them both smiling.

“Well I don’t expect you to do it yourself.” Ian’s shirt was discarded, and Mickey’s attention was focused on his chest. Once the shirt was on, he was brought back to the situation at hand and instead shifted his focus to the task of removing his sweatpants; they were thin, which Mickey found understandable due to the warmth in the house. The jeans were a pain to get on, and he had Ian pull up the pants while Mickey adjusted his legs. “I’ll be right back.”

Mickey had no clue where the wheelchair was kept and had to ask around with the Gallaghers. “Where’s the wheelchair?”

“Why do you need it?” Fiona glared at him as if he wasn’t trustworthy.

“I’m getting Ian out of the house. God, how long’s he been cooped up in that room? A month?” Fiona seemed to unsurely fetch the chair from where it was stored under the stairs and unfolded it by the stairs. He gave her a sarcastic smile and retrieved Ian from his bed. “You’ve got to be sick of this room.”

“I suppose. I haven’t had anywhere to go,” Ian shrugged and rubbed his hands nervously against his jean-clad numb legs. “Thanks though, I do need out.” Mickey gave him a reassuring smile when he noticed Ian’s hestance. “People are gonna stare.”

“Don’t worry about anyone else.” Mickey pushed Ian out of the house, being greeted by the warm sunshine. Mickey wasn’t really one to talk about not paying attention to people’s judgement, he’d spent a long time so far in the closet that he even tried to keep it a secret from himself. “I’ll fucking hit anyone that says shit.” Mickey didn’t quite know where he was taking Ian, but he wanted somewhere they could be alone, because Ian looked freaked out with so many people around.

They ended up at the baseball field, because Mickey didn’t know anywhere else they could be completely alone. They sat towards the edge of the field, Ian sitting beside Mickey with his legs extending helplessly in front of him. Mickey tried to keep Ian’s focus away from his legs, because the thought of not walking again was depressing, but Mickey refused to push him towards physical therapy, if it would be too much for him.

Ian’s hand rested on Mickey’s shoulder, and Mickey noticed how Ian’s green eyes weren’t as bright as he remembered them. It made his heart tingle knowing how different Ian would always be. “You’re going to be okay.” Mickey wasn’t so sure about that in reality, but he’d try to do what he could to make Ian feel okay.

“Only if you’re here for me.” Mickey reached out and squeezed Ian’s hand, because since his first visit, he realized that he’d never be able to leave Ian like that, even if he deserved better than someone who pushed him all the way across the world. Ian was it for him, if Gallagher didn’t want him, Mickey couldn’t find anyone better for him. He dragged the hand he held tightly up to his lips, pressing a forceful kiss to Ian’s hand, hoping to reassure him.

“Fuck if I could leave you now.” He felt Ian’s smile press through his shirt, and burn itself permanently in Mickey’s memory. “You’re my Gallagher.” Mickey wanted to hit himself over the head for saying something so cheesy, but Ian relaxed, and Mickey wasn’t as annoyed with himself.

“Why do you love me?” Love wasn’t something Mickey was excited to talk about, he still wasn’t sure if he really thought love was a thing. He figured though if he was to love anyone, it was surely Ian, and Mandy of course, but it was different to love family. He supposed though, that Ian was family.

“Because, I don't know,” Mickey shook his head, unsure of how toa answer that. "You're wonderful Ian Gallagher. I can't explain why I love, besides that fact that you're you. But the reason shouldn't matter, the fact is that I love you, no matter what." Ian’s lips pressed against Mickey’s cheek, and Mickey turned to capture their lips together. "No one's ever wanted me," he mumbled. He'd never felt what he'd felt with Ian with anyone else, not even just love, but the whole sense of family.

“No one’s ever wanted me either.” They were a perfect match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you want to message me or something, my tumblr is- captainjackfuckingbarakat.tumblr.com
> 
> Might be awhile before I have another chapter up. This is the extent of stuff I already had written, so now I need to figure out where to go next, and write another chapter.


	6. Think About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this chapter a couple hundred words longer, but that didn't work out.  
> Also, sorry my chapter titles are always so lame, I'm not good with naming them.

Mickey was sitting in Ian’s bed, with his back up against the wall, and his legs across Ian’s lap, only bringing to attention the fact that one of them didn’t have the use of anything below their waist. They were both laughing uncontrollably at a piece of paper in Mickey’s hand. “What the fuck is this supposed to be?” Mickey asked, his voice coming out fragmented from the laughter.

“It’s a dog.” Ian indicated the scribbles on the paper that loosely resembled a lopsided stick figure.

“You’re a fucking shit artist.” Ian gave him a challenging look; a look that said ‘you do it better then.’ “Give me the pencil.” Challenge accepted. The end result of his ten minutes of running the pencil across the white, crinkled paper was an undetailed cartoonized dog complete with floppy ears and big eyes. There was an abundance of wrinkles decorating the page from where it had been pressed against the surface of his leg; it was far from a sturdy drawing surface which resulted in holes littering the page. “There,” Mickey said triumphantly and passed back the paper.

“Not bad,” Ian shrugged. He tried to play it off as if it was nothings, as if he could do the exact same thing, if not better, even though he’d previously proved that he can’t.

“Fuck you. It’s better than yours.”

“I never knew you could draw.” Ian’s eyes scanned the paper and smiled. “It’s good.”

“I draw every so often,” he commented passively. “Nothing special.” Mickey’s eyes roamed around, eventually landing in front of him, on the legs underneath his own. His hand rubbed at the redheads hip, and all laughter and smile seemed to be sucked from the room by an invisible force, replacing it with a sort of tension. “You think about what I said?”

“About therapy?” Ian nodded. “And I’m saying no. Just like I said to Mandy, Fiona and Lip.” Mickey couldn’t grasp Ian’s refusal to get back on his feet; the depression from his limits was obvious, and an understanding on his decision was unreachable.

“Don’t eliminate the option.” Mickey’s eyes were still trained on the redhead’s legs, and he could tell from the small hitch of his breath and choked, and not so silent sobs, that Ian must have been looking at the same useless appendages. The hand Mickey had pressed to Ian’s hip made its way to rub at his legs, trying to will them to work again. The hand shifted again, and his eyes trailed across Ian until coming in contact with Ian’s eyes, which were now clamped shut with obvious burning bubbles of salt water, slowly slipping down his cheek, to his chin, falling onto his t-shirt and getting absorbed in the fabric.

“I’m just afraid it won’t work.” His voice was constricted, and sounded forced with a lack of oxygen entering his lungs. Mickey cupped his face and tried to wipe away the moisture staining his cheeks, but it wasn’t worth it, with the tears still flowing. He was at a loss, with no ideas of how he could comfort Ian.

Mickey moved his legs off of Ian and laid next to him. Ian’s head was forced to rest on his shoulder, and he ran a hand through the red hair in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “You have a chance Ian, to get better, so take it.”

“It costs a lot,” Ian sighed. “I don’t want the money to go to waste.” Mickey squeezed Ian’s shoulder and pressed a hard kiss to the side of his head. Of course Ian was going to be so selfless, even when it was a completely appropriate time for him to be putting himself first, for once.

Mickey let out a deep breath and shook his head. “You should try,” he urged. Mickey only wanted Ian to stop pitying himself and work to get better instead; he was there for Ian, it would just be hard to prove that. “Don’t give up on the idea.”

Ian’s negligence to respond, suggested a silent ‘no.’ The redhead hadn’t left his house for a week, since Mickey had taken him to the baseball field; Mickey had been going to the Gallagher house almost everyday so that Ian had contact with people besides his siblings. Mickey was still the only one he would talk to, because Ian had only been able to open up to the shorter man thus far.

“Well, I gotta go, got work to do.” Of course, when he said ‘work’ he meant collecting money from people who seemed to think that they could avoid paying the Milkovich’s; he still worked at the Kash and Grab, he just had a bad habit of not showing up. He didn’t like the other guy he was working with, he was too...not Ian- blond hair, brown eyes and Mickey’s height, and not even remotely interested in guys, which Mickey really didn’t mind because he wasn’t interested either. “I won’t be by for a few days,” he said simply. He left out the reason- his dad’s trial and sentencing was coming up, and he was hoping to get Terry in jail for a long time. He’d been locked up for a few months on little charges, and then the cops found reason to keep him in for a lot longer; drugs. “Probably stop by on Tuesday.” It was a Friday, and that would be the longest he hadn’t visited in the past week.

Ian nodded passively, and it was clear that he wasn’t very pleased with that. “Bye,” he said simply and seemingly ignored him otherwise.

“Whatever firecrotch,” Mickey sighed. He gave Ian a short kiss, which was not returned and tried to ignore the fact that he was obviously pouting. He climbed over Ian and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes which he’d taken off to get comfy beside Ian. “Maybe you’ll learn to draw a dog by Tuesday,” he teased, and was pleased to hear Ian chuckle.

***

Terry somehow managed to only get ten years, even with all of the illegal substances in his possession, and the proof that he’d dealt drugs before; Mickey was lucky that there was no proof of his assistance, or he’d be joining his father in jail, which was definitely not part of his plan. Terry was bound to be after all of his kids when he got out eventually -though who knew where they’d all be by then- because they’d all played a part in his arrest. They had a big party after the sentencing, and Mickey was too hungover to make it to the Gallagher’s on Tuesday; Mandy went instead. Ian was supposedly fine, but Mickey was still cautious when he went on Wednesday.

“Hey, sorry, I was a bit busy yesterday,” Mickey said in place of a greeting when entering Ian’s room. He kicked off his shoes by the bed as usual, and took his spot on the bed, sitting closest to the wall.

“Mandy said you were hungover.” Ian was smirking, and Mickey was glad he wasn’t mad for Mickey blowing him off.

“Dammit Mandy,” he mumbled. “Had some celebrating to do.”

Ian gave him a short nod. “Ten years, that’s all the fucker got?” Of course Mandy told him about that too.

“I’m sure he’ll be back in right away anyways,” Mickey shrugged. “How’ve you been?” Mickey once again had his back pressed to the wall and threw his legs across Ian’s useless ones. He rubbed a hand over Ian’s hip, where his shirt was pushed up slightly, exposing his pale skin and the bottom of the bandage, which from the looks of it, had been recently changed, and he wondered who had done it; he’d already had to do it once more during the last week.

“I thought some more, about therapy.” Ian fidgeted with his hands, and looked anywhere but towards Mickey, mostly focusing on his legs. “If I do it at the VA, my insurance will pay for most of it. So I’ve got an appointment next week.” Mickeys face showed a big smile, and he was proud of Ian for finally agreeing to it.

“You want me to come with you?”

“Please.” Mickey gave Ian a long kiss in reassurance that there was no way he wouldn’t be there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I kind of ended this chapter suddenly. I don't know. I'm not sure if I've mentioned Terry in other chapters, but if I did, and that clashes with what I wrote here, let me know.
> 
> If you wanna ask questions, or know when the next chapter will most likely be up, my tumblr is captainjackfuckingbarakat


	7. Slow And Steady Wins The Race

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably a lot of errors. I had my friend look over it, but i always make spelling errors. I'm actually really happy with this chapter though.

Ian started therapy in a week, and he’d already changed his mind an uncountable amount of times since he’d agreed to it only three days prior. Mickey would come over, and he’d be squeezing the life out of the stress ball- well, in a theoretical sense, as the ball was not a living thing and did not require oxygen. “I can’t do this Mick. I can’t. I can’t. I  can’t .” And then he’d keep talking like that, and eventually work himself into a panic and Mickey would have to calm him down. It got irritating, but Mickey understood that it was probably a lot for Ian; he could only imagine what things would be like once he actually started physical therapy.

When Mickey came by again on Sunday, things were calm for once, but Mickey was unable to tell if that was good or not. It was a school day, and only ten in the morning, which explained Debbie, Carl and Liam’s absence. He didn’t think Fiona had work that early, and yet her presence was still missing in the house, along with Lip, who was still in transition between college and getting a job. And what was even more peculiar, was that Ian was missing from his bed, which he barely left. Maybe his siblings finally decided to take him out of the house. 

It would’ve been a waste to go back home, because he’d only be coming back in a couple hours anyways. He settled in on the couch and turned on the tv; at least they actually had cable- albeit the shitty quality of the tv- at the Milkovich’s house they only had a stolen playstation to play videogames and watch movies on.The Gallaghers even had an Xbox, not stolen, but no doubt bought with illegally earned money; they at least made a habit of not stealing things, but they had no problem scamming rich people out of their money.

The tv was on some game show, and he didn’t bother to change the channel, because he wasn’t going to watch it anyways. He ended up laying down, with his head resting on one armrest and his feet propped up on the opposite one. It didn’t take long for his eyes to fall shut- each time he blinked, it became harder to re-open them, and eventually he just gave up and let himself fall asleep.

 

Mickey startled awake to the sound of a door slamming and three separate tones of laughter. One of them was the low, obnoxious laugh that he knew belonged to a certain redhead. “God Ian,” Lip choked out. “That guy did  not get the hint. How many times does one need to tell someone to ‘fuck off’ before they actually do.”

“Apparently he didn’t understand the word boyfriend,” Ian said. Mickey hadn’t heard either of them use the word, it was a weird concept. Maybe they were just friends now, because they weren’t fucking- and Mickey had always thought that relationships like theirs either involved constant sex, or ignoring each other- but they kissed sometimes, a lot more than before; god relationships were confusing.

“Or didn’t care,” Fiona’s voice came next. They were getting closer to the living room, and Fiona paused when she caught Mickey looking back. “Oh, hey Mickey.” Ian stared into the living room, frantically searching for the aforementioned man.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted, looking right back at the redhead. “Where’d you guys go?”

“Took Ian to the Fountain. He was reluctant at first, had a hell of a time getting him out of the bed. But we had a good time, didn’t we bud,” Fiona commented. Lip stood back in the kitchen while Fiona pushed Ian towards the  couch. Mickey didn’t think he’d ever be able to get along with Lip. Sure in front of people they could pretend to get along- especially around Ian- but when left alone the tension was always high, and Lip would start reprimanding him for fucking up his brothers life. Fiona seemed to accept that Mickey was around for good.

“Isn’t that a gay bar?” He asked skeptically. He’d remember Ian going there once with Ned.

“Yeah,” Ian said nonchalantly. Mickey hated that idea; he thought him and Ian were kind of a thing. “It was great, we laughed at all the idiots and prissy guys.” It was then that Mickey remembered Ian calling him his boyfriend, which meant he had really only gone for shits and giggles.

“Glad you had fun,” he said genuinely. Once he knew that Ians intentions were pure, he really didn’t mind where he’d gone. “Glad you got out. Thought you’d stay in that room forever.” Fiona leaned down to wrap an arm around Ians back, and she motioned for Mickey to come help. He reciprocated Fiona’s hold on Ian and both of Ian’s arms wrapped around Mickeys neck, silently shooing Fiona away. Mickey kept one arm around Ian’s back, and used the other to lift up his legs, and gingerly set the redhead on the couch. Eventually, Ian would be able to do that on his own.

“How long have you been here Mick?” Ian asked, and Mickey really had no idea how long he’d been asleep for; he had yet to check the time. He looked around for the nearest clock, and spotted that it was already noon, and he couldn’t believe he had been knocked out that long. Mickey also wondered what the hell had been so interesting at the bar, since they must’ve spent a couple hours there.

“Got here at ten, so a little over two hours. I mostly watched tv.” Mickey didn’t want to admit to having slept on the Gallaghers couch while they’d been gone, but Ian seemed capable of detecting the lie.

“Ruffled hair, messy clothes,” Ian smirked and raised his eyebrows. “You’ve definitely been sleeping, or fucking, but I’m assuming the former is the more likely answer.” Mickey noticed from the corner of his eye, Fiona in the kitchen trying to shoo Lip upstairs. Of course he was refusing to move from where he was seemingly glued to the counter, looking in on Mickey and Ian with a cigarette between his lips.

“Okay okay,” Mickey puffed out. “I fell asleep waiting for you.” He could feel, as well as  see Lip glaring at him, while Fiona was still trying to get him to move. “I can fucking see you,” he called over Ian and across the room. Mickey noticed Ian’s shoulders tense, and he felt bad for already starting an argument with the blonde Gallagher.

“Not like I was trying to be surreptitious,” Lip shrugged. Mickey wanted to walk over to him and pummel Lip into the ground for trying to act better than him; Lip had screwed over his sister, and he hadn’t been too nice to Karen either. But he wasn’t going to continue the mentally brewing fight, because it was obvious how much it was bothering Ian.

“You wanna go upstairs?” Mickey offered, because he knew that was the only way they could get some privacy. And it would keep him from killing Lip in a very gruesome way. Ian simply nodded and held out his arms, and Mickey stood up and the pale limbs were holding tightly to his neck. “Oh, come on big guy,” he grunted. Ian was pretty much just muscle, and he was a lot taller than Mickey, and therefore heavier. He held Ian bridal style, as that would be the easiest way to get him upstairs and to the sanctuary that was his room.

“Thanks for not arguing,” Ian mumbled into Mickey shirt as the dark haired man opened the door to the room. “I could tell you wanted to. You’ve really changed, I like this Mickey.” The shorter man chuckled and dumped Ian on his bed.

“Four years makes a big difference.” They both knew how true  that was. “So, therapy on Wednesday,” Mickey said, it was a very awkward subject for them to bring up. “You still plan on going?”

“Yeah. No more changing my mind,” he reassured. “I have to go, face my fears and all.” Mickey nodded and slipped into the bed next to him, laying closes to the wall. He was proud of Ian for overcoming that fear of learning to walk again, especially when he’d just had to make a quick adjustment to  not being able to use his legs, and trying to come to terms with  that at the same time. Of course, he’d be even prouder once he completed his first session. “Couldn’t do it without you.”

***

Wednesday came quickly. And by then, Ian still had a positive- albeit nervous- outlook on the appointment. Mickey was at the Gallaghers at 8 am to help get Ian ready and to head across town for the first of many physical therapy appointments, which was at 10. Mickey knew though that they needed to leave time for the paperwork that would need to be filled out. They were going to the VA hospital for treatment, and Ian was rather lucky for all of his veterans benefits- especially insurance, which he didn’t have before. His physical therapy would be free, because it was deemed necessary, if he wanted to walk again.

“Hurry up,” Mickey called into the bathroom. Ian had insisted on bathing by himself, wanting the time alone, and Mickey had reluctantly agreed, but he loitered outside of the bathroom.

“I’ll be done in a sec. You can go ahead and come in.” Mickey didn’t hesitate to open the door; he’d been anxious awaiting the okay to enter, he wasn’t about to waste any time. He saw Ian tilting his head back into the water, rinsing away the conditioner in his hair; Mickey decided that he looked calm like that, with the water cascading off of him. “Okay, grab a towel from under the sink,” Ian instructed. It was the first time Mickey had been there during Ian’s bath time. While Mickey grabbed a towel, Ian unplugged the drain, allowing the water to empty from the tub. The redhead held out his arms, and Mickey lifted him from the tub, not minding that his clothes were getting soaked, and settled him on the toilet. He rubbed the towel over Ian’s toned body, the cloth picking up the droplets of water, and once his skin was dried, the dark-haired man helped him get dressed, one clothing item at a time. He was advised to wear loose clothing, so that he could move around easily, which resulted in him wearing a plain red shirt and sweat pants.

“You ready then?” When Ian nodded, Mickey carried him into the living room, setting him in the wheelchair, which Fiona must’ve set out for him. They were borrowing Kev’s truck, since public transportation wouldn’t be the easiest to navigate- the Gallaghers were going to buy a van eventually, with the money the VA would provide for a vehicle that would account for Ian’s disability.

“Bye Fi, bye Lip,” Ian called behind him.

“Good luck,” Fiona threw out. Lip didn’t seem to be in the room, probably avoiding Mickey; for Ian’s sake, he wished the jackass had come downstairs to show support. Mickey pushed Ian’s chair out of the house, so that they could head to the hospital.

“You’ll do great.”

 

“Hello Ian, I’m Dr. Thomas,” the man smiled and extended his hand for Ian to shake. They were in what appeared to be a normal doctors office, but just outside the small room, there was various equipment, for people suffering different injuries, to try to get better and to lessen the pain. Mickey hadn’t really thought about it before, but he wondered if Ian was in pain; he’d have to ask eventually. Mickey was shocked to see a hand now extended to him. “And you are?”

“Mickey,” he said hesitantly. He had been hoping to be able to sit back, and not actually get involved during the session.

“Pleasure to meet you Mickey,” he replied enthusiastically. “I’m glad you’re joining Ian today, it is good to have support.” Mickey didn’t think he liked the doctor much, he was much too cheery about the situation. “Today we’re just going to talk about the plan for your physical therapy visits, and a few exercises you two can do at home to get your legs moving.” Mickey could tell that Dr. Thomas was assuming that they were a couple, but Mickey couldn’t be pissed because they  were a couple.

“Okay,” Ian said quietly. He’d gotten nervous ever since he’d entered the hospital, and was acting quite similar to when he’d first arrived home, but he was at least listening.

“We’re going to have to start slow, so don’t be disappointed. We’re just going to get your legs moving first, since they’ve obviously been stationary for a while. Then we’ll see if you can start moving them a bit on your own…” The doctor continued on, and Mickey knew it was going to be hard for them; Ian was relatively impatient, and he’d no doubt be easily frustrated. Mickey reached over to squeeze the redhead’s hand when it was obvious he was stressed at the idea of how long it would take. “We’ve got machines to help get you moving on your feet. Hopefully you’ll be on your feet in about a year. Might be walking on your own in two.” Dr. Thomas talked as if that wasn’t actually a long time; it was obvious it would end up feeling like an eternity. 

Once the man was done explaining the process of how they would work to get Ian’s legs back in use, he instructed Mickey to rest Ian on the exam table. “Now Mickey, I’d like you to pay attention as I go through the exercises, so that you can do this at home.” Dr. Thomas started by lifting his leg, bending it at the knee, and pushing it to Ians chest. Mickey noticed a flash of pain appear on Ian’s face- that answered his question as to if Ian’s legs hurt, although he couldn’t be sure if they hurt constantly, he at least knew he felt pain- and apparently the doctor noticed too. “Did that hurt?” he asked genuinely, carefully resting the leg back down. When the redhead nodded, he agreed to be gentler. He repeated the same process with the other leg, this time being more careful. “You’ll want to repeat that a few times,” he instructed. He moved back from Ian and motioned Mickey forwards. “I’d like you to try now.”

Mickey was hesitant to take ahold of his leg, but Ian was giving him a reassuring look, which made him less afraid of hurting him. “You should only do the exercises every other day for now, because you don’t want to strain him.” Mickey repeated the same motion as Dr. Thomas had displayed before, and when he was done, he earned a pat on the back. “Good job Mickey, you’ll do great at this.” Dr. Thomas proceeded to demonstrate three more exercises. First, he simply moved Ian’s leg into a bent position, with his foot place on the exam table, and then straightened it back out. Next, he moved Ian’s leg in a circular motion, with his knee yet again bent. And the final one simply involved rotating his foot. Mickey repeated each of the actions after the demonstration, and it seemed he would be perfectly fine at helping Ian out. “Here’s a list of some exercises.” Mickey was handed a paper that had both written instructions, and a picture example. “Call me if there are any complications throughout the week. Will the same time next Wednesday work?”

Both men nodded, and they were set to go. Mickey waited until they were settled in the truck to discuss the appointment. “You okay?”

“It’s going to take a while,” Ian sighed. “But I should’ve expected that. Not going to wake up one day and suddenly be able to walk,” he mumbled.

“We’ll get through this.” Mickey patted the other mans leg and gave him a sympathetic look. “2 years will feel like no time.”


	8. Mediation

“Ow,” Ian complained when Mickey pushed too hard on his leg.

“Sorry sorry,” Mickey replied automatically. He may have been successful at helping out in the confinement of the doctors office, but by Saturday, he was continuously causing Ian pain. “Let’s try this again.” The dark-haired man lifted his right leg, carefully pushing it towards Ian’s chest, and he tried not to push him too far, and yet the other man still let out a pained yelp.

“What the fuck are you doing to my brother?” Lip demanded. He looked worried, and pissed off; they didn’t tell the rest of the Gallagher’s what they had to do for physical therapy. Mainly because Ian knew that either Fiona or Lip would try to help instead, insisting that Mickey would do more harm than good. It was supposed to be something for him and Mickey to do; he wanted his boyfriend to be involved, and he actually found them working together, more intimate than anything they’d done before.

“He’s helping me with therapy Lip, chill,” Ian said simply, trying to get his brother to back off. He didn’t need the idiot scaring Mickey off before anything was accomplished.

“He seems to be doing a bang up job,” the blond Gallagher rolled his eyes. Ian could just tell that Lip was going to start shit, and it would only be a matter of minutes and a few harsh words from Lip that would have Mickey running. So Ian had to stop them before anything got out of hand.

“He’s doing just fine.”

“I’m right fucking here,” Mickey interrupted. “Fuck off Lip, you’re not needed for this.”

“Whatever man, try not to kill my brother.” Lip felt under Carl’s mattress and produced a pack of cigarettes, he looked inside, and presumptuously found it empty, and flicked it to the floor. Lip left then, to which they were both thankful, because he was good at fucking up the mood between them.

The shorter man lifted Ian’s leg once again, and pressed it to his chest. Gallagher gave him a cheeky smile, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward a bit more to press their lips together. He trailed his hand up Ian’s leg, and gripped onto his hip, and tangled his other hand in the red hair. Ian’s hands fumbled for Mickey’s zipper, like they consistently did when things got even a little heated between them; it wasn’t that surprising, but things weren’t about sex anymore, at least, that wasn’t Mickey’s main focus.

“Let’s finish your stretches,” Mickey mumbled and slid off of Ian’s body. He gripped Ians foot, and rotated it at the ankle, round and round.

“Do you not want me?” Ian worried and chewed on his bottom lip.

“Course I do, but that’s not what this is about anymore. Right now, I’m trying to focus on helping you get better; helping you walk.” Mickey pushed his thumbs into the bottom of Ian’s foot, massaging it, even though he doubted the redhead could actually feel the pressure. “Besides, I know you can’t get off, and it’s really not important to me, unless we get off together.”

“Are you sure? I’m not holding you back?” Ian asked hesitantly.

“Of course. Kissing is good enough.” To prove his point, he leaned forward to peck his lips.

 

Mickey sat alone in the Gallagher’s kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. It was late, and Ian had gone to sleep a few hours prior, but Mickey couldn’t will himself to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about all of the things that could go wrong, about how all of the physical therapy and stuff might ruin Ian.

Mickey was interrupted by a cough coming from the stairwell, and he looked up, only to find Lip standing on the bottom step and rolled his eyes. “Never thought I’d say this,” Lip chuckled, almost manically, “but you better not leave now.” The blond shook his head, and moved down the final step, inching closer to Mickey, and stopping by the counter. “He loves you for some reason, and I’ve tried- oh boy have I tried,” Lip chuckled again, like he couldn’t understand how anyone could tolerate the Milkovich. “But it doesn’t seem that I can convince him that he can do better than you; you’re both so persistent. You’re different now, I see that. So I’m giving you this one chance to prove yourself, but one step out of line and that’s it, I’m never going to trust you again.”

He nodded and pushed his soggy cereal around in the milk, with the slightly dirtied spoon. “That it?” He wasn’t about to admit it, but he was relieved, because he’d always kind of hoped for Lips approval, he was one of the people closest and most important to Ian. “Better stop trying to convince Ian I’m bad for him.” Mickey had only been good since Ian had gotten home, he knew he was a piece of shit before then. Lip said nothing, and only stared at him. “Whatever man, I’m off to bed,” he declared, and pushed away from his spot at the kitchen counter and walked towards the stairs.

“To do what?” Lip asked as he moved in front of Mickey. “Sure as hell doesn’t look like you’re going to sleep,” he mocked.

“I’ll lay with him or something.” Mickey rubbed at his eyes; he was exhausted, but his mind still refused to shut off.

“More like you don’t want to be around me. I’m trying to get along here, for Ians sake. So fucking talk to me. God knows you don’t have any friends you can talk to,” Lip said cruely. But Mickey didn’t find it so bad, it wasn’t like he was a lonely person; he had Mandy, and sometimes Ian, and that had seemed to be enough. “How’s physical therapy?”

“It’s okay.” Mickey leaned against the counter and tried to act casual. “I keep hurting him, as you saw. Hopefully it won’t hurt so bad once he’s used to it. I know he’s disappointed, but he won’t be walking for a couple years. Knowing him though, he’s going to try to push himself past his limits. He’s already insisted on doing his exercises more often than he’s supposed to.” Mickey found it nice confiding in Lip, because he couldn’t exactly say all of that to Ian, he didn’t have the guts. “Wait, are you just using me to get information about your brother?” It dawned on him suddenly, and he realized that it was pretty damn obvious.

“You seem to know the most about him anymore,” Lip shrugged, and Mickey didn’t realize how true that was. “I do want to get along though, at least for Ian, because he’s under enough stress.” Lip started fidgeting with his fingers. He motioned for Mickey to head to the living room with him.

“What haven’t you told me?” he demanded skeptically. The hesitation from Lip suggested that he had another stressor aside from his injury. They both sat on the couch and Lip folded his hands in his lap.

“When Ian was in the hospital.” Lip paused to swallow, making clear that the subject was one he was uncomfortable with. “Well, you saw how he was when he first got home, and he was just as unresponsive in the hospital. His doctor decided it would be a good idea to put him through some psych test.” Mickey was tempted to stop him right there, because no one was going to tell him that his Gallagher was fucking insane; he was already hurt enough. “They didn’t get much out of him, but they said that his general pull away from reality, and people could be a number of things. They said it was probably PTSD, because of wh--”

“What the fuck is that?” he interjected. Not only was Ian possibly messed up in the head, but whatever might have been wrong with him, was something Mickey couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Which would only make it that much more difficult for him to be patient and help deal with Ian, if something was wrong.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s common among war veterans, especially those suffering from an injury.” He supposed that made sense, because Ian was a vet, and he was injured, although he still didn’t want it to be something that was affecting Ian. “He also mentioned Schizoid Personality Disorder.”

“What? Is that some fancy way of saying Schizophrenia? Cause I think I’d know if he was hearing voices,” Mickey said harshly, but only because he was getting worried.

“It’s just-- they don’t feel the need for relationships, or interactions, and prefer to be alone; which explains why he would just ignore everyone. But that’s clearly not it, since he sure as hell isn’t pushing you away.” Lip sounded hostile, but Mickey knew he couldn’t do anything about who Ian had decided to react to and spend most of his time with. “Depression was an option, along with bipolar disorder, since our mom had that, and it’s genetic and all. It could also be simply adjustment depression, which isn’t permanent. He’s supposed to go back sometime soon, since his uncooperative behavior didn’t help their results.” Lip ran a hand through his blond-albeit darkening- hair, and Mickey seemed to noticed that his stress levels also seemed to have been spiked. He hadn’t paid much attention to Lip, but he definitely looked like he got less sleep than even Ian, and it looked like he might have been spending a little too much time not caring for himself. “Listen, as far as we know, he doesn’t remember this, and until we get him in to see somebody, we don’t want him to know. He doesn’t need another life-altering problem.”

Mickey nodded. He saw the toll things were taking; he was just glad Ian had started to sleep more, and wake up less throughout the night. “And,” Lip spoke again. “Thanks for taking care of him. Who knows where we might be otherwise. It’s a damn good thing he had someone who loves him- and not just sibling love- to come back to. He needs someone like you right now, who’s willing to do fucking everything. I think, no matter what, most of us Gallaghers are too fucking selfish to put someone else first.” Mikey doubted that, because aside from Ian, Lip definitely seemed the most affected. Maybe Fiona, and Debbie, and Carl didn’t pay as much mind to it, but Mickey was helping take the stress off other people, which was something he never thought he’d do. He definitely wasn’t a helpful person.

“It’s good he came back,” he muttered to himself, but he knew Lip could hear, even if he didn’t say anything. Mickey didn’t bother to announce his departure, and lifted himself off the couch and headed back upstairs.

He slid his body around Ian’s, locking a steady arm around his waist, trying to anchor him. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered into the silent room. The idea of him having a mental disorder was worrisome. “God, please don’t leave me,” he begged. He was officially pathetic, pleading with a sleeping person. “There better not be anything else wrong with you Gallagher, I don’t know if I can deal with that.” Mickey didn’t mean he would leave, he just couldn’t bear to see Ian break down. “I need you, just as much as you need me,” he admitted. “Maybe more.”

Milkovich’s didn’t need anybody. And yet, the most important thing Mickey had learned over the three years Ian was gone, was that he needed that redhead. He figured it had something to do with him being the first, and probably the last person that would love him, because he was such a colossal fuck up, that he was lucky to find one person that had a heart big enough to love a Milkovich. It wasn’t an easy job.

Mickey was thrown off by another hand squeezing his, and it took him a second, but he squeezed back. He didn’t expect Ian to be awake, he should have been scared to death that he hadn’t been talking to himself. But Ian didn’t squeeze his hand to tell him he was there, it was a reassurance, one that Mickey desperately needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. Yay. Gonna say a quick thank you to everyone who's reading this. It's nice to know that people like my writing!
> 
> captainjackfuckingbarakat.tumblr.com


	9. We're All Fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combined chapters 9 and 10 since they were technically the same chapter. Hope that doesn't confuse anyone.

The second physical therapy meeting was pretty similar to the first, but Ian’s disappointment was more obvious. Of course he was unresponsive, and even when Mickey brought him home, he wouldn’t talk, hell, he wouldn’t even look at Mickey. It worried the Milkovich, because of all the possible mental illnesses Lip had listed off. What if the past few weeks had been a fluke, and there really was something wrong in his head; Mickey didn’t want to think about it. Ian had another psych exam scheduled for a week later, and he only hoped that he was acting himself that day.

“Ey, come on,” Mickey said as he plopped on the bed and patted the leg of one sleeping Ian Gallagher. “It’s noon, let’s get some food in you and then work on your exercises.” He let out a huff and shook the Gallagher’s shoulder. “Up,” he demanded. Mickey watched as the redhead slowly opened his eyes; he looked guarded and confused, until he seemed to recognize who was in front of him. The Milkovich could only assume that Ian had had another dream about being overseas; he rarely woke up screaming anymore, but Mickey could tell when he’d had a nightmare. “You wanna go downstairs for lunch?” he asked as he smoothed a hand over Ian’s red hair.

“Just bring something up here,” Ian said with a sigh. He rolled over and pulled the sheets tightly around himself. Mickey sighed and stood up, he leant down to press a chaste kiss on Ian’s cheek. He felt like they were back to square one again, just like how Ian ignored everyone but Mickey before, now though, Mickey felt ignored as well.

He walked into the kitchen full of awaiting Gallaghers, and they all looked at him expectantly. “Sorry,” he shrugged. “You got an extra sandwich there Debbie?” he asked the girl that was spreading mayo over pieces of bread.

“Of course, here,” she said as she happily pushed forward one of the already made ham and cheese sandwiches. “Just make sure he eats.” Mickey rolled his eyes and passed the plate to Liam, instructing him to take it to his brother; Mickey needed a break. He walked into their living room and fell down on the couch. He was so tired; ever since Ian’s mood had changed, Mickey was staying up too late worrying about his boyfriend.

Mickey felt the cushions on the couch dipping as someone sat next to him. He peeked over to see short, slightly curled light hair, and of course Lip was there, because somehow they’d managed to get along, and he made sure Mickey watched out for his brother. “We’ll know what’s up soon enough, and if it’s something bad, he’ll take medication and get better.” He didn’t trust Lip’s attempts at reassurance; he knew better than to get his hopes up, because something bad always seemed to happen between them.

“Mickey?” He heard Liam’s voice float through the room unsurely. “Ian, he’s asking for you.” The young boy stood towards the edge of the room, and Mickey could tell that must’ve hurt, having his brother ask for someone else when they barely saw each other in the first place. It really was a parallel to when his redhead had first gotten home.

When he got upstairs, Ian was sitting up and eating. “I was worried when you didn’t bring my food,” he admitted.

“Thought I’d give your siblings a chance to spend time with you.” It was only a partial lie; he wasn’t going to make Ian feel bad by saying that he had needed a break. “I don’t see you with them often, and I know they miss you too,” he said, acknowledging that he wasn’t the only person in Ian’s life.

“It was a year before I actually heard anything from them. I told them I was okay, when I first left, but they didn’t ask questions. I know you asked around though, Mandy told me; apparently you weren’t very surreptitious. Anyway, when I learned that they didn’t care, I stopped missing them,” Ian shrugged, as if it was no big deal.

“Liam looked like he was gonna cry. Don’t be a douche.” Mickey took a seat by Ian, and brushed a hand over his legs; ever since Ian had gotten home, Mickey had been obsessed with the appendages. He’d never realized before that their lives could- and would - turn out like that. “You’ve got a psych text next week,” he told him cautiously.

“I know,” Ian sighed. “Lip tends to forget that I can hear, or that I’m even in the room.” Ian seemed to think that he was insignificant, and yet, Mickey always knew when Ian was around, because there was like some invisible force that pulled him towards the redhead. “They’re going to declare me insane. Out of my mind.” Mickey was about to argue, because no matter what was wrong in Ian’s brain chemically, he was never going to be insane. The other man stopped him though, by continuing on. “The nightmares are worse. I wake up all of the time, I’ve just stopped screaming. I made a lot of friends overseas, and a lot of them didn’t make it home, because their bodies weren’t found, or they came home dead. And I really wanted to stop making new friends that would get killed, but it made it a little less scary. And I knew, that eventually, I would be the one getting shot. And looky, I did, I’m just lucky I didn’t end up six feet under. Or unlucky, because I have to live with the guilt of coming home alive.” Mickey wanted to tell Ian to stop, to just shut up, because it was painful for the both of them, but the redhead wouldn’t have listened anyways. “When I sent letters home, there was always a second letter inside the envelope, that no one else was supposed to read. But I told them, that if I was killed in action, they were supposed to be given to you. I couldn’t bare dying and having you still think I hated you.”

That was news to Mickey, because he had been sure that Ian had hated him whilst he was off in the army. And Mickey hated him everyday, because he ran off somewhere, bound to get killed, and didn’t bother to tell the Milkovich shit. All of the Gallagher’s were fucking stupid, he’d decided at the time, and it was probably still pretty true. “What were you planning on doing with them if you survived, huh? Were you only planning on showing them to me - letting me know how you felt - if you died?” Mickey couldn’t believe him; not only was he stupid, he was fucking selfish.

“What does it matter? Things worked out between us nonetheless.” Mickey was most definitely not satisfied with that answer, which Ian seemed to know. “I figured that you still hated me,” he shrugged.

Mickey laughed at the irony. “Well guess what, I thought you hated me too. And I did hate you, but not because of the fight, but because you left, and I thought I’d never fucking see you again. Should’ve sent the damn letters.” He wanted so badly to be angrier at Ian, because he’d spent three years in hell, just waiting to hear from Mandy that he was dead. But that had been three years ago- almost four for crying out loud -  and blowing up on Ian would only mean moving backwards again, and they’d done enough of that. “What about now? Will I ever get to read them?”

“They’re embarrassing,” Ian said while he hid his face.

“I’ve said a shit ton of embarrassing stuff, it’s your turn.”

“Fine. I’ll ask Fiona where she put them later.”

***

Ian had made it through the psych exam, and luckily, he was still talking to everyone, because Mickey had yet again managed to pry him from his shell. It was a few days later when he was called back by the doctor, and they returned to his office. Carl, Debbie, Liam and Mandy sat in the waiting room, while Lip, Fiona, and Mickey went with Ian to speak to the doctor directly and learn the results. He hadn’t seemed pleased with the amount of people that went back with the redhead, but they were all insistent that they needed to be with Ian.

“I wish I had good news,” he sighed as he sat behind his desk, in his nice, swivel chair. There were only two other chairs in the room, and they were occupied by Lip and  Fion , and Mickey stood behind Ian, rubbing a comforting hand over his shoulder. “Your brother, or um, Ian,” he corrected, since Mickey obviously wasn’t family. “I have diagnosed him with PTSD and  Cyclothymia .”

“What the fuck- what is the c word?” Mickey blurted out incredulously. He hated not understanding what the doctor was talking about.

“ Cyclothymia ,” he repeated, slowly as if Mickey was stupid. “It’s a mood disorder. Much like bipolar disorder.” All three of the  Gallaghers  took notice of the newly mentioned disorder, and although it sounded familiar, Mickey still had no idea what it was. “It’s just milder. Basically, he has a stable mood, with disruptions of depression and mania,” he explained, luckily in simple terms that the  Milkovich  understood. Even though the way he said it made Mickey feel stupid, he probably was though.  "We'll just get him on some meds and things will be good."

Ian's head shook, and he voiced his complaints. "I'm not taking meds." Mickey rubbed his hands over both of Ian's shoulder; he wanted the redhead to take medication so that he would get better but Fiona and Lip would bother him enough about it.

"You have to take the medication Ian," Fiona urged, although she kept her voice calm and soothing, but Ian appeared to ignore her. "It'll make you better." To avoid a family argu ment, the doctor decided to intervene.

"I'll write a few experimental prescriptions, for if he decides that he'd like to start medication. When he does, I'd like for him to come see me once a month." He started scribbling in his prescription pad, and ripped out two slips of paper. "One is for a low dosage of Lithium, to manage the  clyclothymia , coupled with Seroquel to even out episodes of depression and mania. As for the PTSD, unfortunately there isn't much medication, especially with Ian's negative response, with the withdrawal and avoidance. I'd advise different types of therapy. Here's an explanation of the different options, look over it, and get back to me next time we meet up." Fiona was handed a few papers stapled together, full of words, and Mickey thought it all looked too complicated. "I hope to see you again soon. We're done here, have a good day."

Fiona and Lip stood up, walking out of the room, and Mickey followed, pushing Ian in front of him. Fiona gave everyone in the lobby a sad look, and promised to explain things when they were no longer in the presence of Ian. Mickey pushed Ian to the parking lot, and got him situated in to Kev's truck, while the rest of the Gallagher's headed for the L. They'd be getting a wheelchair accessible van, which would make transportation simpler, as soon as the money went through with the VA.

Once in the truck, Mickey turned towards his boyfriend a set a hand on his left leg. "You okay  firecrotch ?" Mickey asked with genuine worry, trying to keep the mood lighthearted all the same. Ian shook his head, which was all Mickey needed to wrap his arms around the slouching man. "It's okay, we'll get through this together."

***

"Get your ass up," Mickey demanded as he walked into Ian's room at 8:30  am on Wednesday to drag Ian to his third physical therapy appointment. "We need to leave in half an hour ." Ian groaned and turned away from Mickey to face the wall and stuff his face into the pillow. " Ey !" Mickey called as he sat on the edge of Ian's twin-sized bed. "Hey there sleepyhead, I know you're awake." Ian made some more unintelligible mumbles as he talked into the pillow. "What was that mumbles," the  Milkovich  said with a smirk.

Ian turned himself away from the pillow. "I quit," he said bluntly.

"What?!" Mickey stood up and stared down at the redhea d still lying in bed. "Get the fuck up, because we've got to go!" Mickey pulled the covers off of Ian, because Mickey had been lucky to get Ian to agree to it once, it would be even harder for him to convince the Gallagher to go a second time.

"Fuck off!" he shouted tiredly. "I had a bad nights sleep." Mickey sighed and kicked off his shoes before crawling into the bed and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. 

"You're going ba ck next week," Mickey said half-heartedly, and let Ian return to his sleep. He wasn't in the mood to bother his redhead while he was feeling so down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must say thank you to the people reading this. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: captainjackfuckingbarakat.tumblr.com


	10. We All Need A Little Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took some time.  
> Remember that I combined chapter 9 and 10 since they were technically the same chapter. Don't want that to confuse anyone.

When the next week came, Mickey got up before 8 a.m. once again to drag Ian to physical therapy, the redhead was still insistent on staying in bed all day, and Mickey reluctantly complied. He hadn't been around much over the previous week, as two of his brothers had just gone to jail, and Iggy insisted on moving back in after he'd disappeared for almost a year. And money was tight for them, as Mandy just got fired from the diner she worked at, and Mickey didn't have a job, so they had no income. Mandy and Iggy had hounded him every minute that he was home, because he spent minimal time at home, but the way he viewed things, he was too busy taking care of Ian to do much else. The more time he watched over the broken Gallagher, the more time everyone else had to work, so that their money could go towards Ian, it was just how his life worked anymore.

Mickey spent the day at the Gallagher's, wrapped around Ian who refused to talk to him and would only leave the bed to use the bathroom. It was about midnight when the redhead fell asleep, and Mickey felt bad leaving when he had failed to tell him that he wouldn't be there in the morning. He walked into the Milkovich house around 12:30 in the morning, and unsurprisingly, Iggy was still awake, watching some crappy horror film on their equally crappy t.v.

"Where the fuck you been?" Iggy called and looked over the back of the couch at him.

"None of your fucking business." Mickey shrugged off his jacket and dropped it to the floor and then kicked off his shoes. The only person in the family that knew about Ian, was Mandy, and even though Terry was in jail, he didn't want his dad finding out that he was gay. And Iggy definitely didn't need to know either.

"You find a job yet?" Mickey stomped passed Iggy and into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge that was nearly broken, with the handle coming off nearly every time it was opened, and duck tape currently holding it on.

"No," he grunted with aggravation. "I don't have any fucking time. Busy busy." Mickey popped off the cap on the bold bottle of beer and walked in the direction of his room until he was faced with the 'stay the fuck out' cardboard sign that failed to keep anyone out.

"What the fuck you busy with?"

Mickey didn't bother to answer, and stormed into his room, a slam resonating through the paper thin walls when he closed his door.

 

***

 

Mickey woke up early on Thursday as well, because he'd been worried about the redheaded Gallagher all night. He slipped into the clothes he'd worn the previous day for simplicity, and didn't even bother grabbing food before he was out of the house. He got to the Gallagher's quickly, and was stopped by Lip at the door. "Where did you do?" he demanded.

"I went home," he stated and tried to slip past the man who only stood an inch or so taller than him. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah!" Lip spit out. "He woke up screaming and won't let anyone near him. Of course, you'd know that if you'd been here."

"I don't fucking live here. I can't be here every second." Mickey noticed Debbie standing back in the kitchen looking nervous, while it seemed Carl and Liam were at school. "I'll go up in a minute, just let me eat something," Mickey said with an exasperated sigh. Once he was finally allowed inside the house, he made his way to the kitchen and greeted Debbie as he put two slices of bread into the toaster. "Hey Debs. Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

The girl shrugged and pushed herself up onto the counter. "I wanted to stay home and make sure you came over to take care of my brother, he's pretty bad today. Only word besides 'get out' that I've heard him say was 'Mickey'."

"No worries, I'm here now, you should get your ass back to school. It's good for ya." Mickey was probably the last person that should be using those words, as he'd just gotten held back until he was old enough to drop out, and he at least knew that not finishing high school was a bad idea. The toast popped up, causing them both to jump in surprise and Mickey quickly composed himself. He removed the now toasted bread slices and ran up the stairs without another word. He munched into one of the pieces of toast and held onto the other to feet to Ian.  

When he opened the door to the room housing the three youngest Gallagher boys, he was greeted by Ian's back and the sound of his tears. "Get out! Get the fuck out!" he screeched, and his arms lashed out.

"Hey," Mickey said quietly and took a cautious step into the room as Ian silenced. "Sorry I left you alone last night. Iggy's home and he's being a dick." When Mickey got to the edge of the redhead's bed without any complaints, he sat down. "Heard you had a nightmare." Mickey kept his voice gentle so he didn't startle the man. "Wanna tell me what it was about?" Ian shook his head and the subject was dropped. "Here, I got you some toast." The Milkovich held out the crisp bread and Ian crinkled his nose with distaste. "You've got to eat. Is there something else you might want?"

The Gallagher seemed to mull it over in his head for a few moments before  his head moved in the notion of a curt nod. "Ice cream," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

"What flavor?" The dark-haired man smoothed a hand through the short red locks and looked at Ian expectantly.

"Cookies n' cream."

"Okay. I'll be back in a few minutes." Mickey dropped a kiss to his Gallagher's forehead, but was held captive for an actual kiss, and only one he complied was he allowed to get up and leave. The house seemed empty when he went downstairs, and he wondered when they'd started trusting him enough to leave him home alone with Ian.  

Mickey set his path for the Kash and Grab, but was stopped at the end of the block by someone pulling him aside. Fucking Iggy.

"What were you doing at the Gallagher's?" his brother demanded as he towered over the black haired Milkovich.

"Babysitting." Mickey started walking again, and of course Iggy followed instead of taking the hint to fuck off.  

"The youngest one is six. No way is that what you were doing."

"He's not the one I'm babysitting." Mickey felt as though he was partially telling the truth, although saying that he was babysitting Ian made it sound like a job, and it most definitely wasn't.

"What, you banging one of them?" Mickey shrugged, really just trying to shut Iggy up, but it spurred him on instead. "Fiona, or the uh, redhead, Debbie?"

"Ian," Mickey said blatantly, his tone ripped of all emotion and he held his breath, waiting for the response.

"Yeah, that's the other redhead," Iggy said, clearly not getting what Mickey was saying. "But come on, which one is it? Or are you doing both?" Holy fuck man, score!" Iggy was giving him an easy out, but for once he didn't want to take it.

"Ian's the one I'm banging, or was banging. He's paralyzed now, got shot in the spine, but I'm helping take care of him..." Mickey talked quickly, and tried to fill in every gap that might give his brother the chance to react. "I'm buying him ice cream right now, because today's a bad day, and he wants some, so I'm getting it." Mickey paused his walking as he waited for a car to pass, and in turn, also paused his talking.  

"Ian Gallagher?" Iggy thought it over in his head, and Mickey figured that the fact that he was still standing was a good sign. "Wasn't he fucking Mandy though?" Iggy really didn't seem to give a shit, and only appeared baffled by all of the past events. Mickey watched a sleek black car pass, the windows tinted with an out of state license plate - probably just passing through - and then he continued on his mission to get his boyfriend ice cream. "Wait, you and Ian, how long's that been going on?"

"Started right after him and Mandy started dating or whatever. Then we got in a fight and he joined the army. Then bam bam bam," Mickey made a gun with his hand and mimed firing it. "He got shot and came home. And he needs someone to take care of him so that's what I'm doing."

"Cool," Iggy shrugged. Mickey's eyes seemed to bug out, but then he decided to just accept the reaction and kept walking. "You said today's a bad day, but what does that mean?"

"He had a nightmare." Mickey pushed open the front door to the Kash and Grab and a bell chimed above him. "He won't let his siblings near him when he's like that, and since I went home last night, I couldn't calm him down." Mickey moved to the back, towards the freezers and looked the ice cream selection. Once he found what Ian had asked for, he grabbed it and went to the front and stood behind some old lady who was trying to pay with coupons they didn't accept there.

"Well, uh, cool. I'm gonna go back home, now that I know what you've been up to." Iggy left, and the old lady followed a few moments later. Mickey wasn’t sure how he had expected the encounter with his brother to turn out, but he was definitely taken by surprise. Iggy had been cool with it, and even feigned interest in what he was saying about Ian. He didn’t want to think about it though, because it would only confuse him more.

Mickey paid for the ice cream and hurried back to the Gallagher house walking about twice as fast as he had on the way to the Kash and Grab, mostly so the ice cream didn’t melt, but also because he was a little of Ian being home alone for too long. He considered actually telling Ian about what Iggy had said, and that he knew, but until he could confirm that he had no ulterior motives, he figured it best to keep it to himself.

The first thing Mickey did when he slammed the back door closed, was stored the ice cream in the freezer. It had surely melted slightly under the glare of the sun; even though it was already September, the weather was in between summer and fall, and couldn’t quite decide whether or not it should be hot out, and if the leaves should start falling. Mickey started filling a glass of cold water, when the lights flickered off and he groaned. Stupid fucking Gallagher's not paying their bills.

“Mickey? What happened?” He heard Ian’s worried voice call from upstairs.

“Just a minute,” he grunted as he trudged outside. He caught the man that worked for the electric company wandering back to his van. “Ey! You fucking mind.”

“Here we go again,” Mickey caught the guy mutter under his breath as he turned around. “Need 150 dollars to turn it back on. You’re already a week late.”

“Fuck. Here.” Mickey pulled out the 50 dollars he had in his wallet and went to hand it over, but pulled his hand back at the last second. “Pay the rest soon, this is for you to keep it on for today.” The man nodded and took the money. Mickey then headed inside and grabbed the water he’d left on the counter, and as he was about halfway up the steps when the lights flickered back on.

“What was that?” Ian asked when Mickey approached the door.

“Your stupid sister forgot to pay the bill. Got him to turn it back on for today.”

Ian gave him a wary glance. “You didn’t beat him up, did you?”

Mickey chuckled and rolled his eyes. “No. Gave him some money, don’t worry about it.” He sat down on Ians bed and let one leg dangle off as he faced the redhead. “Brought you some water, your ice cream is in the freezer. You feeling any better now?” Ian nodded and used his arms to move himself into a sitting position and took the glass from his boyfriend's hands.

“Was just a little shaken up was all.” The redhead took a small sip of the water, and his eyes slipped shut as the cold liquid moistened his dry mouth. “Oh!” Ian exclaimed suddenly. “Fiona found those letters I told you about. They’re in a shoe box under the bed.” Mickey dropped to his knees on the floor and his hands roamed under the small bed until they came in contact with a small box. He then sat back up on the bed. “Just don’t read them around me.”

“Will do.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and opened it to see a text from his sister. ‘Need u 2 by groceries. Think u can do that shithead? Money and list are on the kitchen table.’ “When will anyone be back?” He didn’t want to leave Ian for a long period of time alone, but he definitely didn’t want to piss his sister off.

“What time is it?”

Mickey looked back at his phone that was still settled in his hand. “Almost noon.”

“Lip should be here in about 15 minutes then. If you've got something to do then go.”

“Alright. Tell Lip to give you your ice cream. I’ll be back later.” Mickey slid his phone into his pocket and leaned over Ian to peck his lips. He grabbed the shoebox and hurried out the door.

 

***

 

After nagging from Mandy, Mickey finally gave in and landed himself a five hour shift at the grocery store. He was just glad that all he had to do was make sure things were stocked and take inventory, rather than actually interacting with people, although the job still wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. He was just pissed that Monday-Thursday, he had five hours less to make sure that Ian was doing okay.

On Monday, after his first day of work, he was exhausted. It was a 24 hour store, and he was stuck working from 10 p.m.-4 a.m.; and since it was so late at night, the shelves lacked their proper inventory, and everything was unorganized, so it was his job to fix everything. He was completely prepared to go to the Gallagher's and fall asleep beside Ian, but their door was locked and he had no way to get inside without waking anyone up. By the time he got home it was almost five in the morning, and he figured he might as well just stay up and go to the Gallagher's around eight. He could sleep while Ian took one of his many naps, he’d be more comfortable then anyways.

When Mickey got to his room, hoping to find something to occupy the following three hours, he spotted the box for Nike shoes, and he knew that inside were a bunch of sappy letters. He didn’t even really need to read them, since he was back with Ian, and the Gallagher had probably told him most of what was written. But it plagued him that there might be something else, something important in one of the letters. After a solid 15 minutes of staring at the box atop his dresser, he leveled his hands on his bed and pushed himself to his feet. He delicately took the lid off and placed it next to the box where it sat lopsided, covering empty beer cans, various candy wrappers, and dirty clothes. He grabbed the first letter which was dated about a year after Ian left, and held it carefully, as if the paper might crumble to dust and the words would wash away in his uncleansed hands.

Mickey took the letter back to his bed, as he didn’t think he wanted to be standing while he read it.

‘Dear Mickey,’ were the first words written in the redheads clear and legible, albeit rushed handwriting. He knew that as soon as he read anymore, stopping would be nearly impossible, and he wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to know every little thing Ian thought about him, as he couldn’t unread any of it. But he felt like he just had to realize what effects his stupid ass actions had on the Gallagher.

 

_‘Dear Mickey_

_You probably hate me, right? I sure as hell do. Leaving was a stupid idea, especially because it was just a stupid fight, we argue all the time. I miss you a lot. I thought it was bad when you went to juvie those couple of times, but now we’re not even on the same fucking continent. I don’t even know if I’ll ever see you. I hope you’ve found someone that can understand you better than I ever could. Looking back, I can see how much you always loved me, I know you were just scared, and I never helped any by pressuring you. You had Terry as a father, your actions were understandable, I was just blinded by my own wants._

_Well uh, I love you Mick._

_-Ian’_

 

Mickey couldn’t believe that Ian had ever thought that, because Ian was the only one that ever seemed to understand, and he could always see right through Mickey’s tough guy act. He’d even managed to let Ian in slightly, opening a window even though there were still bars closing himself off. Mickey recalled that for the first month he’d blocked all of his feelings with booze, trying to convince himself that Ian didn’t matter, but in reality, he knew that Ian might have been the most important thing to him. There were only two people he truly cared about; Mandy--as she was his little sister that was an obligation--along with the stupid redhead that wormed his way into his heart.

Reading the one letter had caused a wave of emotion to course through his body, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed. Mickey shook his head and put the letter back in the box and carelessly shoved it under his bed, no longer wanting to have to deal with the reminders of the three years that Ian had been gone.

Mickey left his room to play video games until it was late enough to venture to the Gallagher's.

  
  


Mickey knocked quietly on the door to Ian’s room after Carl let him inside. “You awake?” he whispered into the room. He opened the door to find Ian curled up on the bed sound asleep. He smiled at the sight of his boyfriend and ventured into the room to settle down on the bed beside him. He sat on the edge and turned his body to look down at Ian. He carefully ran a rough hand through Ian’s red hair; he felt like he had no right to be touching something so delicate with his hands that he seemed to only be able to use for bad things. Ian was the only one that could ever see the good in him.

“Mickey.” Ian moved about sleepily and peered up at the dark-haired man. “What time is it?”

“It’s early. Go back to sleep.” Mickey pressed a kiss to Ian’s forehead and slid into bed next to his boyfriend. Ian curled up to his side immediately and gripped his shirt.

“Where have you been?” Ian spoke in a quiet voice; it was obvious that the redhead hadn’t been sleeping much since Mickey had last been by.

“I got a job,” he sighed. He played with the red hair at the base of Ian’s neck. “Mandy wouldn’t leave me alone. Gotta pay the bills and all.” Ian nodded, although he looked upset. “I tried to stop by earlier, but it was 4 in the morning and the door was locked.” Mickey felt horrible for leaving the damaged boy on his own for so long.

“I’ll get you a key tomorrow,” Ian mumbled against his chest. He managed to fall back asleep within minutes. Meanwhile Mickey stay up thinking about getting a key to the Gallagher house. That meant coming and going whenever he wanted; becoming an official part of the Gallagher clan.

Carl hurried into the room a few minutes before eight and fumbled under the mattress on top of the bunk bed. His face lit up with an evil smirk, and he pocketed three ninja stars. “Hey,” Mickey called out before Carl could leave the room, and he stopped in his tracks. “Weapons ain’t for taking to school. Put them back then get outta here.” The teenaged Gallagher groaned and put the ninja stars on the desk by his bed. He flipped Mickey off as he grabbed his backpack from the dirtied floor and disappeared out of the room.

Mickey wondered when exactly he’d become such a permanent figure in the Gallagher household. It wasn’t so scary anymore though. He was finally learning how to accept being a part of Ian’s life; he was even capable of admitting to being in love with the redhead.

The Milkovich pressed a soft kiss to Ian’s temple and took in the redhead’s smile. He closed his eyes with the image of Ian burned into his mind, and he held Ian tighter to his chest, as if he was afraid the Gallagher would run away while he was sleeping.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going back and editing previous chapters, because I tend to update before I'm actually ready. There shouldn't be any major changes though.  
> Feedback is appreciated.  
> Find me on tumblr at: captainjackfuckingbarakat


	11. It Takes Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha, i didn't edit this. I was too lazy and it's been a little bit since I've updated. Hopefully it isn't too crappy. It's actually longer than I thought. Might be awhile for another chapter.

Mickey called Ian’s doctor right away - the same one that did the psych exam – to as how to take care of Ian. His boyfriend was still asleep, even though it was after  noon , but Mickey went downstairs anyway for safe measure; both so he didn’t wake Ian up, and so that the man didn’t hear.

“Hello, can I speak to Dr. Arissen?” Mickey asked politely as he paced across the carpet in the living room. In just a few minutes the phone call was redirected to the doctor that he wished to speak to. “This is Mickey Milkovich. I’m calling to speak to you about Ian Gallagher.”

“Just a minute.” Mickey could hear the man on the other end typing away at his computer, no doubt pulling up Ian’s information. “Ah yes. PTSD and Cyclothymia. Has he started taking the meds yet?”

“No, he still won’t. But, he hasn’t been…doing much lately. He refuses to go to physical therapy. And I’m-I’m worried,” Mickey said shakily.

“I advise trying to get him to take his meds, and get him out of the house. If he’s still like this inn a week, call me again and we can try to get him in to see a therapist, or if absolutely necessary, I’ll make a home visit.” Mickey figured that what Dr. Arissen was saying better work, otherwise he was at a complete loss; getting better was something Ian needed to want and work towards, Mickey couldn’t do it all on his own. 

“Thanks doc, I’ll let you know how he is in a week.” Mickey hung up and headed back upstairs to where he hoped Ian was still asleep. He figured that once someone else was home to watch Ian, he could go out and get Ian’s meds, because that seemed like a good start.

“Where’d you go?” Ian asked as soon as he returned to the room they’d been sharing with Carl and Liam.

“Mandy called, wanted to check up on us.” The lie fell easily from Mickey’s tongue, and Ian believed it just as easily. “Thought you’d still be asleep,” he sighed. He sat down beside Ian and ran his hand through the red hair that had grown out quite a bit since he’d returned home.

“Well I’m up,” he stated simply. “Lip said he’s gonna let us have his room. Since you’re staying over more often than not, and my bed’s a bit small for the two of us.” Mickey knew that that must have been a one-sided conversation, because Lip definitely would’ve mentioned Ian saying anything. Mickey was the only one he really talked to. 

“I’ll tell him we accept that offer okay.” Ian’s eyes lit up when Mickey understood him so easily; Ian didn’t even have to say much, and Mickey caught on. “It’ll be nice to have some privacy,” Mickey sighed. He moved himself into a laying position beside his redhead and wrapped him up in his arms. “There’s too many people in this room. 

“Mhm.” Ian’s head was rested on the Milkovich’s shoulder, and he already looked half asleep. Mickey pressed a kiss to Ian’s forehead before he could fall asleep, and as soon as he was unconscious, Mickey escaped from the room. He was trying to waste time until Fiona and Lip came back, because he really needed to talk to them about getting Ian on meds so that he wasn’t so distant around his family. He knew the Gallagher’s probably couldn’t afford it, which was why he’d made sure he’d have enough after he got his first paycheck.

He was startled when the front door opened – even though he’d been waiting for someone else to get there. “Mickey.” Lip paused in his tracks. “When’d you get here?”

“Early,” he shrugged. “Who has Ian’s prescription? I’m worried about him.”

“I think Fiona’s got it. But do you really think he’ll take it?” Mickey shrugged and stared at the ground. “I guess we’ll try. I’ll tell her to do it tomorrow. Ian talk to you about my room? I told him, but I don’t know if he heard.”

“Yeah, we want it. Thanks.”

Lip gave him a small smile and headed upstairs. “I’ll try to clear it for tomorrow.” It seemed like, even though Ian wasn’t doing the best, things were still managing to get better for them.

***

Lip had his room cleared in two days, and while everyone was out of the house, Mickey took Ian to their new room and put hi on the bed while he worked on moving Ian’s stuff. He did a load of laundry and made it Ian’s job to fold them while he moved things into the drawers – he’d even brought over some more of his own stuff.

“I was thinking,” Mickey spoke up as he grabbed a pile of t-shirts Ian had folded. “Maybe later or something we can go somewhere. Doesn’t seem like you’ve left the house in a while.” He didn’t get a reply right away, but he could practically hear Ian thinking it over in his head.

“Can we go out to eat?” Ian asked in a small, insecure voice. Mickey showed a big smile though, and nodded. He stuffed the pile of Ian’s clothes in the dresser and then plopped onto the queen-sized bed beside Ian, wrapping an arm around him and half laying on top of the redhead. “I want pizza.”

“Yes, let’s go get pizza tonight,” he said happily. He hugged Ian tightly, but got worried when the Gallagher pulled away. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked, obviously worried about Ian. Ian nodded and produced something from his back pocket, then held out a closed fist to Mickey, who was baffled. “Got something for me?” Ian slowly opened his fist, and the dark-haired man discovered a key; it took him a moment to realize that it was the promise key to the Gallagher's house, but once he deduced that, he smiled big. “Thanks Ian,” he mumbled as he kissed him. It was as if he was officially living there, and it was weird with how distant they both used to be.

“Pizza,” Ian said quietly but insistent.

“Okay okay,” Mickey chuckled and hopped off the bed. “Pizza. Come here, I’ll take you downstairs.” Ian happily folded his arms around Mickey and let the other man lift his body – Mickey could tell that the redhead had lost quite a bit of weight, which could have been just a loss of muscle, but he worried it was also because Ian at less. He almost seemed as small as when they first started their relationship, and Ian wasn’t too much taller than him. Mickey walked down the stairs carefully, and set Ian on the couch briefly so he could get the wheelchair from underneath the staircase.

Ian smiled at him as he was lifted into the chair, and the smile seemed permanent as they left the house – Mickey almost forgetting to lock the door behind him as he hurried out of the house. They took Kev’s truck, because it seemed to have become for the Gallagher's use to get Ian around until they got a wheelchair accessible vehicle. “Got a specific place in mind Gallagher?” Mickey asked as he lifted the redhead into the matching red truck, the then folded up the wheelchair and put it in the trunk bed and proceeded to get into the drivers seat.

“Valentino’s,” Ian said happily. Mickey couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to Ian’s wide smile and put the truck in drive. “Seatbelt Mickey,” he taunted, to which the Milkovich automatically rolled his eyes and reluctantly stretched the belt across his body.

The drive took a little while, since Mickey wanted to get them out of the Southside, so he had to take the busier streets, and it was around lunchtime. He was patient though, as he rested his hand gently on Ian’s numb thigh and rubbed circles with his thumb that Ian couldn’t feel. He looked over every chance he got to catch the glimpse of a smile on his Gallagher’s face. He was quite relieved when he finally pulled into an almost empty Valentino’s lot. There was no wheelchair ramp – which pissed Mickey off, because don’t all places have ramps? – and so he had to pull the wheelchair up the four steps, which was a pain in the ass and it didn’t look like Ian was too comfortable.

Mickey was already upset, and it didn’t help that no one was there right away to seat them, even though there were about three other people in there. “Fucking piece of shit,” he complained.

“We can go somewhere else,” Ian offered, but the dark-haired man wasn’t having any of that bullshit.

“You wanted Valentino’s, so that’s what we’re getting,” he said strictly. _Finally,_ someone took them to their table, and the woman eyed them warily, noticing the way Mickey touched Ian’s shoulder lightly as he pushed the chair forward. They were led to a table in the back, and Mickey moved one of the four chairs so that Ian’s wheelchair could go right to the edge of the table. “I promise I’ll yell at them if they take too long again,” Mickey chuckled.

“Have I got my own knight in shining armor?” Ian teased. “Thanks for everything Mick.” Mickey was glad that Ian now seemed to have a permanent smile on his face; it made him feel like he was doing _something_ right for once. A waitress greeted them at their table rather quickly and took their drink orders, then dismissed them to the buffet. “Get me some pizza Mick.”

“What, you think I’m leaving you at the table? Nuh-uh.” Mickey got up from his spot and moved around the table to push Ian towards the buffet. He grabbed two plates and handed them both to Ian, so that he could easily switch between putting food on both of the plates. “Do you want some pasta?” Ian nodded and handed Mickey both of their plates. “Garlic bread?” Mickey put two pieces on their plates and moved onto the pizza. “What kind of pizza?”

“One piece of pepperoni and one cheese.” Ian smiled at his boyfriend as he piled slices of pizza onto the two plates. The redhead gladly held onto the plates while Mickey pushed him back to the table, and he started picking at his food. “Mm, it’s really good Mick.”

The Milkovich leaned over and gave Ian a small kiss when he settled him back at the table. “Enjoy your food then.” Ian set both plates on the table and immediately bit into his pizza. Mickey started eating his pasta, and it was pretty damn good; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out to eat, but it had definitely been quite awhile, he usually just ate whatever crap Mandy made.

“So is this a date?” Mickey shrugged and tried to focus most on his food; he’d never been on a date, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted this to be their first date. But when he looked up at the hopeful smile lighting up his redheads features – which had, over the previous weeks, bore a frown – he couldn’t deny the nature of the outing.

“Yeah.” Mickey rested his arm on the table with his palm up, far enough across the table that Ian could reach it and hold it with his own. The Milkovich couldn’t hold back a small smile as he felt a longer hand fit over his, and suddenly his hand was flipped over as gentle fingers spelled out a word on his knuckles that didn’t match the tattoos inked in the skin. “Love,” Mickey repeated the four-letter word that was opposite the harshness of ‘fuck’.

“You should get this removed,” Ian suggested quietly, keeping with the sated mood hovering over their table. “They don’t fit you anymore.”

“Costs too much.” Mickey had hated the tattoos for a while, and had long wince debated their true meaning. He’d gotten them at 14 and thought the crude words would make him appear tougher – it had seemed rather necessary as he’d been discovering at that age his sexuality, and how it was apparently ‘bad’ to be gay. He had always thought that the knuckles looked best when blood smeared over the words and hid the letters, albeit still keeping the same meaning. “Someday,” he sighed. He’d always known that Ian hated the tats.

“Never thought I’d hear that.” Ian continued to trace the letters that formed the word, and Mickey didn’t know what to think that meant. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo. Maybe a heart.”

“What would you want that for?” Mickey demanded without thinking.

“For you of course,” Ian sighed. “I’ve thought about it for awhile.” Mickey knew he would never get another tattoo, because he hated the permanence of the ink on his skin. He definitely didn’t want Ian getting something written on his body for Mickey – he was too much of a fuck-up for them to ever last.

“Don’t do that.” Mickey shook his head and pulled his hand away. “If you want a tattoo, you should get something more meaningful.” Mickey stared down at his plate and moved things around; he was thrown off by a thump to the head. “The fuck Ian?” he asked in ridicule as his head snapped up to glare at the redhead in front of him.

“Getting a tattoo for you _would_ be meaningful you fucking idiot.”

“How do you know I’ll stick around? Tattoos are permanent, people aren’t.” Mickey knew how he worked – it was either fight or flight. Right now, Ian needed taking care of, so he stuck around and fought for him, but at the first sign of danger, he knew he would run.

“This is the hardest part,” Ian shrugged as he took a sip of his pop. “You’re still here, so I figure, what reason could you have to leave. If you didn’t want to deal with me you would’ve never come back to me in the first place.” Mickey resumed picking at his food, and tried not to show how much those words mad him _think_. Was it really the hardest part? Could nothing worse come along? Had Ian hit rock bottom, so all he could do was improve? Mickey couldn’t think of one thing that could drive him away once Ian was better, because by then he’d be too attached – hell, he already was.

“Oh.” Mickey took a bite of his pasta, but couldn’t taste anything, as he couldn’t focus. “Oh,” he repeated as everything spun around in his head. “Forever,” he mumbled with a sense of worry in his voice. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but the word loomed over him like a dark cloud; could anyone really be forever? “Okay.” Mickey could never see himself with someone else, and he’d never been in a serious relationship – and even though he wouldn’t have admitted it before, his relationship with Ian had been pretty serious from day one.

“It doesn’t have to be forever Mickey,” Ian said frantically. Mickey’s silence must have been taken as disapproval, instead of the thoughtful acceptance it really was.

“Who else would I spend my forever with?” Mickey asked with a small grin. He fitted his hand into Ian’s once more, and suddenly it wasn’t so scary for the redhead to be branded with a reminder of him for forever. It wasn’t such a long time – after all, time always seemed to go quickly when you’re having fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me here: captainjackfuckingbarakat.tumblr.com


	12. Pretty. Odd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the That Green Gentlemen by Panic! at the Disco cause I started singing it in my head while trying to title it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unedited, but I really wanted to get a chapter up. I've had this written for awhile, just haven't gotten to typing it up. So here ya go. Feedback is appreciated :)

Much to Mickey’s – along with the rest of the Gallagher’s – relief, Ian was once again opening up, although Mickey had yet to bring up the medication to Ian. The orange pill bottles were kept hidden in the dresser that held both of their clothes – in the top drawer among underwear, pajamas, and socks – because it could only be reached if Ian could pull himself to full, or even half height. Mickey had been debating when to bring it up with the redhead, but he was afraid of the conversation to cause Ian to once again shut down.

 

“Do you want to get better?” Mickey asked with subtlety late at night. Ian was reading something he had never heard of while Mickey flipped through the channels on the small boxed t.v. he’d hauled into their room – he’d stolen it awhile ago, before Ian was back, and it was originally in the room he occupied at the Milkovich house.

 

“Course I do. I’m getting better already.” Ian pulled the book away from his face and flashed Mickey a large smile that barely shown in his eyes. “I’d jump around for you, but my legs aren’t cooperative,” he chuckled.

 

“That’s not what I mean Ian,” Mickey sighed and powered off the television. “You’re better now, but you need something that will make you stay better.”

 

Ian brushed his hand through his red hair – which was slowly becoming more vibrant – and looked away from Mickey. “You’re talking about the meds, right?” Mickey was surprised that Ian already knew he was bringing that up, as the medicine hadn’t been mentioned since the psych test almost a month previous. Mickey was prepared to interrupt as he sensed disappointment in the other man's voice. “I saw you sneak the meds in the dresser the other night. It’s easy to pretend to sleep when that’s almost all I do.” The dark-haired man looked at his boyfriend sympathetically. “I’ll take them,” he nodded slowly.

 

“Wait, really?” Mickey asked in surprise; he’d never thought it would be so easy.

 

“I see how sad this makes you. More often than not, I’m awake when you get off work. I know how afraid you are. I don’t want you to worry anymore.”

 

“Oh,” Mickey sighed. He’d never wanted to have Ian worrying about him; that wasn’t how it was supposed to work – Mickey was the one that was supposed to worry. The Milkovich scrambled to get up, hurried over to the dresser, reached into the top drawer to pull out the three transparent orange bottles, and shook out one pill from each. “Here,” he said shakily and passed over the small circles.

 

“I need water Mickey,” Ian chuckled. Mickey paused briefly to smile fondly at Ian, and then he hurried downstairs to the kitchen to fill a glass of water.

 

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” The Milkovich stopped in his tracks and whipped around to find Fiona sitting at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee.

 

“Water, for Ian,” Mickey said statically. “He agreed to take his meds.” Fiona perked up at that, and a quick smile was tossed his way, he almost missed it.

 

“Good for him,” she replied quietly, her attention going right back to her coffee and it nagged at Mickey. She portrayed the exact mannerisms as someone who wanted to talk about something they didn’t want to talk about, but only if asked – he knew the tell tale signs all too well, as he’d done the same plenty of times.

 

“Stop that,” Mickey barked and earned a confused glance. “Just tell me what’s fucking wrong.”

 

A long, drawn out sigh escaped her lips and she set her mug back on the table. “I’m worried about Ian.” Mickey rolled his eyes – everyone was worried about Ian. “He only ever talks to you.” He noticed the disappointment, and felt even guiltier – he knew that he was stealing Ian away from them.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mickey sighed. He moved to the sink and grabbed a glass, filling it up. “He worries when I’m gone for too long.”

 

“It’s not your fault Mickey.” Her voice was soft, and when he looked back at her, she seemed sincere. “He needs help… I don’t know what to do anymore.” Mickey set the glass on the counter and moved over to sit beside Fiona at the table. “You better take care of him.”

 

“Of course I will,” Mickey reassured. “There are two important people in my life, and I’m going to try like hell to protect the both of them.” Now though, Mickey realized, he might have been starting to care about a few more people, as he was carefully blending in with the Gallagher family, and their loyalty was rubbing off on him. “Speaking of your brother, I better get him this water before he changes his mind.”

 

Fiona forced him into a hug before he could go upstairs, and the contact confused him. It took him a moment, but he hugged her back, taking comfort in it. “Don’t try to do this all on your own. Lip and I, along with everyone else, are happy to help.” He gave her a short nod and then took the steps two at a time.

 

“Took you long enough,” Ian laughed as Mickey came back in.

 

“Ran into your sister. Here,” Mickey passed the water over and crawled back into bed. “Now take your meds so we can go to sleep.”

 

Ian carefully placed the three pills on his tongue and swallowed them down with the water. Mickey was also watching him closely to assure that he actually took them. “All gone.” Ian lifted his tongue to show Mickey that he had in fact swallowed them. “Goodnight Mickey.”

 

Mickey rested with his head on Ian’s arm and kissed him softly. “Goodnight.”

 

***

By Monday, Ian was still on his meds, and he seemed to be in a genuinely happy mood. Mickey hadn’t left the Gallagher house once – without Ian at least – since he’d gotten off work on Friday, and dreaded work now that it was Monday night.

 

“I’ve gotta go Ian,” he sighed as he pulled away. “I’ll be back tomorrow okay. Gonna stop home first.” Mickey wouldn’t admit that he’d been rather eager to read more of Ian’s letters, ever since he’d opened the first one. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Mkay, see ya. Let me sleep.” Ian was laid back in bed and already nearly asleep. He batted a hand carelessly in the direction of Mickey to shoo him away. “Have fun at work.”

 

Mickey headed out, and pretty much fucked around throughout his shift. He was glad that it was a relatively easy night, and when he got to the Milkovich house, he wasn’t very tired. But someone else was awake, which ruined his plans to read another letter right away.

 

“How’s that redhead of yours doing?” Iggy asked from the couch. The T.V. was on, but it was muted as soon as Mickey’s presence was noted. He sighed and made his way to the couch, dropping his jacket on the back. It was September already, and although it was only just turning to fall, it was already getting rather chilly out. It was hard to believe that Ian had been back for over three months now.

 

“Getting better,” he shrugged. He wasn’t too comfortable talking to his brother about his boyfriend, because he still couldn’t be sure how accepting Iggy really was.

 

“What’s up with him again?” Iggy shut off the T.V. completely and shifted to face towards his brother, and it seemed like he might actually care.

 

“He’s uh, paralyzed from the waist down. He’s supposed to be doing physical therapy, but he’s…he’s taking a break. He’s got some mental disorders too – PTSD and some other shit. I don’t know, I don’t understand it.” Mickey fidgeted uncomfortably under his brother’s stare, and looked in the opposite direction.

 

“Sounds tough man.” Iggy patted Mickey’s shoulder sympathetically, and it was only slightly able to calm him down. “The army really messes people up. I’ve got a buddy that always drops to the ground whenever he hears anything that could resemble a gunshot. I laugh and all, but that shit ain’t funny. We haven’t really seen shit.”

 

Mickey nodded half heartedly. “He’s getting better I think. Fuck, he acts as if he can’t live without me, but I don’t see how I’d doing any good. I’m fucking toxic.”

 

Mickey was jolted forward by a harsh hit to the back and he glared at Iggy, who didn’t give the younger Milkovich a chance to cuss him out. “You’re never home anymore. And I know that none of your money is going into paying the bills here. You’re fucking taking care of him, so quit jabbering on about not being good for him and shit.” Mickey paused and looked forward to consider the words; he’d never, throughout all of their relationship, thought of it like that. He’d also never realized that Iggy was a good brother; he didn’t think about it when he was safe and sound in his room when he was younger, away from Terry’s wrath, because Iggy had ushered him away.

 

The Milkovich household had never been close-knit, and Mickey was always worried about Mandy, because she was the youngest and the only girl, and their two older brothers rarely bothered to care, it had seemed. But maybe Iggy protected him and not Mandy, because she already had her protective older brother.

 

“Were you around the whole time?” Mickey accidentally mused aloud. “You let me think you were a piece of shit all along.”

 

Iggy rolled his eyes and got off the couch. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he chuckled. “I knew you were gay when you were 12. Dad made me get your weed, found a page from one of them fashion magazines, with mostly naked men on both sides. Looked rather used too.” Mickey hid his face in his hands and groaned in embarrassment. “Didn’t expect you and Gallagher though.” Iggy got up and walked into the kitchen. Mickey heard the suction of the bridge opening and the clink of beer bottles. “Makes sense now. He was over too often, and his and Mandy never acted like a couple.”

 

His brother exited the kitchen and handed a beer to Mickey, the cap already popped off. The dark-haired man took a welcoming gulp and then bumped it against Iggy’s as he sat back down. Mickey took the remote and flicked on the TV, wanting a distraction from the awkwardness between him and his brother. “The fuck you still doing here?” Iggy chuckled. “Don’t you wanna be with your boyfriend?”

 

 

”He’s asleep,” Mickey shrugged. “I’ve got something I wanted to read.” The older Milkovich waved him off, and Mickey was glad that he didn’t ask any questions. He chuckled and headed for his room, stopping right in front of the door. “Thanks,” he hollered back simply to his brother.

 

He got out the second letter from the shoebox under his bed, discarding the box on his messy floor until he was done reading. The letter was dated at the end of March, two years prior, and it seemed so weird that that much time had lapsed since Ian had left.

 

_‘Dear Mickey,_

_I’m sorry I never told you that I loved you. Love you. Maybe then, things could have been better. I regret it every single fucking day. I’ve been counting, and it’s already been 448 days without you. And fuck do I regret leaving you, and my family._

_I don’t like it here Mickey. Basic wasn’t so bad, but they shipped me off in May last year. The water is limited, and we don’t get a lot of food. Two men are already dead. I don’t want to kill anyone.’_

_Mickey could see where the ink was smeared, and the paper was discolored from the tears._

_‘I wish they would let me come home. If I did, would you let me back into your arms?_

_Love,_

_Ian.’_

 

Mickey balled up the letter and threw it towards the wall, although it didn’t go far. He never understood what Ian was going through. He knew about the PTSD, and he knew it was bad, but he never would’ve thought how bad it could be. He quickly moved on to the next one, dated at the beginning of April.

 

_‘Mickey, take me home.’_

 

He noticed right away, the lack of introduction and the urgency.

 

_‘I didn’t want to do it, but he shot one of my friends. They said we would be safe, it was just supposed to be a friendly trip into town. The boy…he was young, Carl’s age. It was like killing my own brother._

_I’m so scared. I never wanted to do that._

_Please. Just take me home._

_Love,_

_Ian.’_

 

He couldn’t bear to read anymore. He was so scared for Ian, and he’d never wanted to protect him more in his life.

 

Mickey didn’t care that it was after six in the morning; he went into the living room and stuffed his feet into his old muddy shoes. He zipped out of the house, and hurried the few blocks to the Gallagher’s. He fished in his pockets for the key that would fit perfectly into the lock, and after a moment, he realized he’d left it in his jacket…at home. “Fuck,” he sighed as he pounded on the door. He wiped at his eyes as he could feel desperate tears begging to be released.

 

“Mickey what the--?” He pushed past Lip and scurried up the stairs. Once he reached the room he now shared with Ian, he relaxed only slightly. He climbed into the bed behind the redhead and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

 

“You trying to strangle me?” Ian said weakly, having just been woken up.

 

“I read some of your letters.”

 

“Oh…” Ian whispered. “I shouldn’t have given them to you. You don’t need to worry.”

 

“Just shut the fuck up Ian, of course I need to worry.” Mickey squeezed his arms around Ian and pressed a kiss to his exposed shoulder. “I want you to talk to me, or someone about this stuff. What happened was scary. You shouldn’t be keeping all of this to yourself.” Mickey sighed and hid his face in the crook of his boyfriends neck, and tried to wipe away the tears onto his skin. “And I think you should go back to physical therapy,” he suggested quietly.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?” he said in surprised, and Ian nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Goodnight Ian. I love you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and there was an anon on tumblr that I must thank profusely for giving me a bit of a push on where to go with this.
> 
> captainjackfuckingbarakat.tumblr.com


	13. Not a chapter

I know I haven't updated in four months and I'm shit. But I'm in the process of rewriting this. I'm trying to add more detail and plan better so that everything can fit together better. I'm going to actually try to make it the best it can be. I'll post it separate from this once I've got the first few chapters ready. I just need a bit of a fresh start. It will still be the same fic, just hopefully ten times better. I have already doubled the length of the first chapter simply by adding details, and I'm feeling good about this. So yeah, I'm not abandoning this fic. I've just been so disappointed in this fic, but now I'm feeling much better about it. 


	14. Not a chapter

I have started to rewrite this fic. It has been posted [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3273386/chapters/7139576) . If you like this fic you should restart from the beginning there, because some things are changing, and detail is being added. I am very happy with how it is turning out.


End file.
